Crash Into You
by unknown ghost author
Summary: Prowl is unwittingly caught up in a new Decepticon plot, this one mysteriously going back to the very beginnings of Cybertronian history and unleashing a dangerous new threat.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crash Into You

**Characters/Pairings:** Jazz/Prowl, eventually. Ensemble.

**Summary:** Prowl is unwittingly caught up in a new Decepticon plot, this one mysteriously going back to the very beginnings of Cybertronian history, and unleashing a dangerous old threat.

**Series:** G1

**Notes: **OC's seeming at the beginning are for plot purposes only. This is a solidly Jazz/Prowl and ensemble story.

~ _65 Million Years Ago _~

"Sir! That last shot shattered their secondary port exhaust vent! They should be dead in space soon!"

Pax gritted his denta plating, smiling through the sheer forces that were shaking their pursuit craft to its outer hull bolts. "Keep up with them. We cannot let them get back to their empire."

"We're already flying apart at our seams, sir. If we go much faster, they wont have to worry about our pursuit." Switch, his pilot, swiveled in his chair, fingers flashing over the control pad, depressing levers and pulling switches faster than his optics could keep up. He was the fastest pilot on Cybertron, and Pax had personally trained him on the orbital light freighters, pushing their limits in the same way he pushed the hover carriers on the planets surface. It was Switch who had then trained the underground crew of freighter pilots, hover drivers, and orbital bouncers to be secret fighter pilots, waiting for the perfect chance to strike back against their overlords and oppressors.

"Fly us apart then! This cycle wont have mattered at all if we don't stop them!" Pax felt another shudder tear through the freighter, jury-rigged as an interstellar fighter, a rush-job pursuit craft, as Switch pushed another couple microns of speed out of the well-out-of-its operating platform ship.

"They're trying to establish contact again. They've broken through our first set of firewalls. We're gong to have to create a new set!" Download, with his brother, Upload, next to him, were monitoring the communications relays of the other ship. They had managed to stay in range of their communications data bursts, and Upload, being the best and most complex code writer on Cybertron, had planted a cascading systems failure virus within their relay node. No matter how good Upload was though, the others were always better. They knew it was only a matter of time before that had failed. Their real purpose wasn't to interrupt their comms. That was only to stall for time.

"Keep at it," Pax growled, standing up, swaying and rocking under the bucking of the freighter. He could hear the twisting of the outer hull plates, could almost feel the buckling of the outer hulls dead bolts against the strain of the speeds they were currently pushing their freighter into.

"Sir! Look!" 'Chip was furiously bringing up the data from his own console to the heads up display on the front viewscreen, where the sensor telemetry and data nodes created a combined visual and data picture for the freighter's crew. Currently, it was showing their enemy sputtering and dropping out of their space tunnel. The fracture and fold in space encasing them began to creak, breaking open, the engines of their enemy's craft no longer strong enough to continue the warp tunnel. Since the freighter had no space tunneling drive of it's own, Switch had ridden hard and fast, only his special "modifications" allowing them to keep pace with their enemies when they jumped into the tunnel.

If the tunnel fell apart, they would be shot out of it, out of control, and at the mercy of wherever the other ship let out.

Pax could feel the tension spike on his command deck. They hadn't spared a thought for the consequences of their actions when they blasted their way out of orbit, leaving the line of their now victorious comrades to pursue the last enemy ship in their system. They had to stop them. The had been so far from their empire when they took over Cybertron, their new outpost serving as a separate auxiliary of their empire, independent and devoid of the authority, and more importantly, support of the main imperial forces.

That had been their weakness.

The Quintessons had appeared suddenly one cycle, in a blinding flash of explosions and destruction, quickly assuming command and control of the planet with little resistance. They were technologically superior, quickly subduing the small rebellions the Cybtertronians enacted against their new overlords and occupiers. The Quintessons had been amused, but still dealt with the rebellions in a decidedly firm and final manner.

They had been there for the planets resources. The metals, ores, crystals, and circuitry of the planet were complex, rich in abundance, and natural in origin. The Cybtertronians hadn't realized until then the richness and fullness of their planet, until it was no longer their own. That bitter realization had made the loss of their autonomy and planet all the more painful, as they hadn't known their own splendor until it was suddenly ripped away.

The Quintessons wasted no time in utilizing the natural labor on the planet for their uses. With their superior technology, they were able to create massive devices, machines to extract and utilize, manufacture the materials of Cybertron. To operate those devices, and to oversee the exploitation of their own world, they employed the Cybtertronians; the ones who were left after the uprisings had all been quelled.

Their technological superiority was all consuming. That had been their first undoing.

They became lazy, arrogant. The Cybtertronians had been pacified, they assumed, awesomed by the immense showing of force and prowess they had displayed, again and again. There wouldn't be another uprising. Though they had overlarge security forces put in place to guard against just such an occurrence, they did not guard against internal subterfuge. The longer they stayed, the more they utilized the natural Cybertronian labour force. And the greater access the Cybtertronians had to the Quintessons technology.

It took a Primusly forbidden long time, to assimilate and understand the technology. Cybertron's best scientists, inventors, machinists, and leaders attempted to reverse engineer and remanufacture the bits of Quintesson tech that was smuggled out of their factories, manufacturing centres, command theatres, and security forces operational hubs. It was a long and laborious process, and many, many mechs were grievously injured in the process. There was a point where they were close to giving up, having lost their best and most brilliant mech-mind to a careless accident during the initialization of one of their weapons tests from the Quintessons own stolen weapons tech.

Pax hadn't been involved in the science side. He was a smart mech, but wasn't a scientist type. His skills were in dealing with other mechs, in commanding and leading them. He had always been able to draw others to him, to motivate, to provide direction. To draw on their individual strengths for the greater whole. He had been one of early rebels against the Quintessons, and was the only one to survive during the last quelling of the uprising. He had laid in stasis for orns, barely clinging on to life, while medics worked to rebuild near his entire body. His spark chamber still carried the vicious scar, from where it had been cracked in two by the Quintessons own hands during their final fight against the Quintesson security forces in Iacontra.

He had never lost his hatred of the Quintessons, had never let go of that fiery, burning desire for rage-filled revenge. He channeled it into healing, once he was online, and made no secret of his attempt to return to fighting the Quintessons as soon as he was physically able. Due to his open allegiance with the rebellion from the start, and the finality of the final uprising, the Quintessons had written his record off as offlined. Pax was free from the subjugation and slavery systems his fellow mechs were stuck in.

They asked him to lead their rebellion. They asked him to gather willing mechs, to train and arm them with their new tech, and to lead them to a new future, free of the Quintessons. They asked him to free their planet. They asked him to free them all.

His hatred of the Quintessons, and desire for freedom had no match in the universe. Mechs around him had quavered in fear around his presence then, certain he was one circuit away from mass homicide. His desire for the utter destruction of the Quintessons was muted however, by the incredible task suddenly laid before his feet. He wished, for one moment, that he wasn't the one they had asked, and then realized there was no one else to ask. If they were ever to be free, it would have to be him. It would have to be.

That didn't mean he wasn't terrified out of his spark though.

He found and recruited the best mechs on the planet, operating in secret, during the night cycles, networking the mechs in silent cells, adding subroutines to enable them to recharge in a neural network, where they could plan and train in secret. They survived raids, betrayals, and training mishaps. The Quintesson security forces knew there was a problem, but assumed it was localized unrest, most probably around the recently enacted termination and offlining regulations they had set down to the injured Cybertronian mechs. The cells were disjointed, fractured, and independent of the massively growing revolutionary movement.

They worked in secret, taking the genius tech from the scientists, and modifying their own Cybertronian freighters, vehicles, mechs, and weapons. The in turn brought their scientists more tech, more specs, more designs to decrease their technological disparity. It was when a cell member, not thinking one day, repaired an advanced piece of Quintesson equipment that he should have no knowledge of, without thinking during a shift, that they realized the time was now.

It was that cycle that they had finally acted.

The morning started out normally enough, with mechs reporting for their assignments on time and without complaint. It wasn't until midmorning that the uprising began, after the Quintessons had been lulled into the monotony of another dreary, normal cycle.

Surprisingly, the battle had been quick and decisive. The Cybtertronians were now well matched for the Quintessons, and more importantly, had the element of surprise on their hands.

The Quintessons had never expected it. They had idly entertained thoughts about another rebellion, but never thought they would actually be fighting Cybtertronians who wielded their own Quintesson weapons, reverse engineered from their technologically superior specs. Their assault was swift, overwhelming, and shocking in its scope. The Quintessons fell within one cycle. Isolated incidents were still flaring around the planet, but the majority of the fight had fled with the Quintessons to the orbital command battle stations surrounding the planet.

This was the major sticking gear. Pax knew that they Quintessons couldn't be beaten unless they took the fight straight to the orbital command battle stations. The trouble was, Cybertron had no more space craft. The Quintessons had destroyed all their space craft when they first arrived, leaving only the orbital bouncers and freighters for transport of good and materials. Pax had refused to act until the scientists had figured a way to turn their freighters into space fighters.

Switch had trained the pilots in maneuvers, while the construction mechs remanufactured the freighters into stealth fighters, concealing weapons and extra plating in the cargo holds. They sacrificed crew living quarters, recharge functions and medical space to ensure room for both their weapons, and to keep the same cargo capacity for their still-needed cargo runs of ore and metals to the orbital stations. Those runs were used for reconnaissance. Pax had privately chuckled to himself as he demanded the scientists accompany him to the orbital stations once, just once, to see for themselves the targets they needed to create weapons and defenses against. The scientists, having never been on the front lines, and quite happy in their dusty, dingy, but well protected backline research labs, had been terrified out of their processors.

It had worked though, the scientists getting over their terror as they clicked and computed their way around and into the defenses and subroutines of the battle stations, managing to somehow disguise themselves as off loading workers when they docked, and able to visually recon the landing bays of the manufacturing platforms within the battle stations themselves. They spent the next indeterminable length of time locked up on Cybertron, designing tech and weapons to combat all they had seen.

Pax had to hand it to them. They won the war for him. Their tech, and most importantly, their defenses, had worked flawlessly. If there was a hero to this uprising, this insurrection, this revolution, it was all of them. Every spark challenged, over processored, tera-byte loving one of them.

The battle station had fallen under the mass onslaught of modified freighters and orbital bouncers, crawling into and around and over their defenses. The mass of smaller crafts, picking away at the massive battle stations defenses, had done more than an all out assault, as they had tried (and failed) at during their last attempted uprising. Two of the battle stations had exploded from within, crashing down onto the planets surface, burying their girth into he jagged and harsh landscape they had marred. The modified fighters followed them all the way down, not convinced they were destroyed until they were burning and melting from within, becoming one with the planets core and surface.

The third had reacted better, buttoning up their defenses and taking out more of the fighters than the others had. Their forces concentrated on the last battle station, and in the end, it hadn't fared any better. It broke apart in orbit, pieces of the station flying past the jury rigged attack craft as they continued to break the battle station into smaller and smaller fragments, takink all their time as oppressed slaves out against their former overlords.

However, before breaking apart, the battle station had managed to launch one last escape craft, the only Quintessons to escape the battle. They had opened up a space tunnel, one of the myriad pieces of tech the scientists hadn't been able to reverse engineer, and had disappeared en route back to Quintessa.

Pax had instantly ordered Switch to follow. The Quintessons on Cybertron had been an outlying, independent province of the empire, able to succeed or fail on their own. The empire offered nothing, and demanded nothing, as their Quintessons lived and operated on Cybertron. They knew the province and mining operation would eventually return to the empire, if successful, but for the time being, were operating independently.

However, if the empire heard of the massacre against their own independent forces, their independent outpost, they would retaliate, en masse. Pax had no delusions that Cybertron could hold off the wrath of the Quintesson Empire. An outpost, commanded by one auxiliary Governor was one thing; an imperial attack force, operating under the direct authority of the Imperial Guard was not something that Cybertron would survive.

They **had** to stop that shuttle. They had to. If it returned to Quintessa, and spread word of what had happened, Cybertron was as good as destroyed. If it didn't return, and Quintessa never heard from their outpost again, they would write it off as simply another lost outpost, lost to the ravages of space. It had happened before. Each outpost was self sufficient for a reason – the empire could reap the benefits of their return, without having to extend their protection and resources to failed prospects.

Switch had managed to ride the tail end of the space tunnel, rocketing them into the wake of the Quintessons' craft. They had traded shots, each damaging their own systems in approximately the same ways, maneuverability down to next to nothing within the confined space warp tunnel. The Quintessons had the upper hand though – the modified freighter was in no position, technologically, to be in the space tunnel, and hadn't the capabilities to fly at their current speeds. The cargo hold had already been crushed by the sheer pressures against the craft. Pax wondered how much longer they had, and knew, deep in his spark, that he wouldn't live to see a free Cybertron.

"The tunnel is collapsing!" Switch cried out, struggling to keep the freighter under control. It careened and bucked under his hands, refusing to steady itself as the eddies and currents of space ripped though the craft's energy fields, crashing in waves against their plating. They went tearing from space warp speeds to near impulse in an astrosecond. Pax fell to the ground, seeing 'Chip and Upload crash down around him. He saw Switch's helmet violently impact his console with a sickening, wet crunch. Consoles exploded around him, sending a shower of sparks and flame around them into the cramped command deck.

'Chip was the first to recover, scrambling back to his smoking and smoldering console. He ignored the flames, coaxing more data out of the damaged nodes and sensor lines. "We've output into a planetary system! The Quintessons are heading into the planets orbits!" The front viewscreen crackled, fitfully trying to show the Quintessons craft descending down into the small planetary system they had literally crashed into. The system was protected by a cloud of rocky asteroids, magnetic fields and ores playing havoc with their remaining sensor pings, and working to the Quintessons advantage.

"Keep after them!" Pax called, stepping over to Switch, who had dazedly righted himself. Energon poured from his helm, one optic cracked and useless. Pax placed his hand on Switch's shoulder, ready to relieve him and fly the freighter himself, but Switch shook him off.

"Pursuing, yes sir!" Switch was as dedicated to destroying the last of the Quintessons as Pax was. Pax had a moment to feel his pride and love for Switch seep out of his processor, before he clambered back to his command platform. His fingers sweept across his half destroyed console, trying to make sense of the sensor ghosts and phantoms pinging off the asteroids around him.

There were four large gas giants in the outer portion of the planetary system, and the Quintessons were heading fast towards the fourth one. "Follow them, Switch. Fly us apart. This is it." His command was soft, steady. No longer did he need to shout or growl over the alarms and shrieking, twisting metal of the space tunnel, the freighter protesting ever micron of the way. This pursuit was eerily calm, belied by the utter destruction surrounding them on the command deck.

Pax quickly checked the mainframe and found that the bottom half of the freighter had sheared off. Though Switch hadn't mentioned anything, hadn't complained, he must have known and was struggling to compensate for the changes in mass, drag and thrust on the freighter. The command deck was the most heavily shielded on the freighter, and would be the last to go, but losing a large chunk of their space craft meant they were in for some rather large problems during the inevitable engagement to come.

Pax tried to bring up a systems check of the weapons systems, and to his dismay, realized that in losing that chunk of their freighter, they had cut the main energon lines feeding the forward laser cannons. They had no weapons to engage the Quintessons.

'Chip knew it too, having finally smothered his smoldering console. He looked to Pax, finality and inevitability in his eyes. Upload hadn't rejoined his brother at the comms station. Download had energon dripping from the back of his helm, and was furiously typing away on his console, trying to maintain his hack into the Quintesson comms relays.

Switch had managed to skirt the edge of the third gas giants' rings, hiding their impulse signature in the magnetic and radiation fields of the interplay between the planets rings at atmospheres. The Quintessons were nearing the fourth gas giant, a huge swirling mass of red and orange toxic gases, its gravity fields competing with the solar gravity of the system. The Quintessons swung around the outer band of the thermosphere, managing to slingshot their damaged and leaking craft further into the planetary system.

"Faster, Switch…" Pax gripped the edges of his command console, the only thing holding him up as the freighter somehow managed to squeeze ever more power from its fractured, shattered chassis. The front viewscreen flickered, static showing on most circuit relays. The sensor nodes feeding the viewscreen had nearly all given out.

The Quintessons must have lost their forward sensor array during their mad dash through the system. Perhaps their maneuver around the thermosphere of the gas giant had been pure accident, or a mad save by their blind pilot. They plunged straight into the fragmentary band of asteroid chunks separating the inner, rocky planets from the gas giants. The impact sent a flash of light across the remaining sensors of the viewscreen. Pax inhaled sharply. That couldn't be the end. They couldn't be that lucky.

Switch gasped quietly in front of them. Download ripped the coaxial cable from the base of his neck, having established a hardline to the comms relays after the smoking console refused to accept his manual input anymore. He dropped to his brothers side, still unmoving on the command decks floor. 'Chip was furiously working his last remaining console pad. Energon dripped from his shoulder, clearly set at an unnatural angle from his torso plating. The rushes of extra energon, highly refined by a little used process of the energon pumps during extremely taxing and demanding situations clearly pushing 'Chip through the pain. This certainly seemed to apply, Pax thought grimly, watching 'Chip work through his injury, paying no mind to the limb that barely functioned.

"They're still out there, Sir! That's wasn't the end of them!" 'Chip found the Quintessons, somehow, their half destroyed, mangled spacecraft barely functioning, operating on emergency systems only. It sparked, trailing exhaust and damaged fuels, ruptured systems cascading into systems failure as they struggled to clear the asteroid belt. The viewscreen flickered again, barely showing a gaseous streak finally flying high above the asteroid belt.

"Now, Switch! After them!" Pax dropped down to stand behind Switch's chair again, gripping the back of it with a renewed enthusiasm. This was it. The Quintessons were not going to make it. Both their ships were near destroyed, but Pax's was slightly, slightly better off. At least he could still see where they were going.

Switch pushed the freighter hard, pushing the last of their energon into the final pursuit. Pax felt the life support systems offline, knowing that Switch had drawn on all available power to the engines. Steadily, the gained on the broken Quintesson craft, until what once had been a blur in the viewscreen now filled the command deck of their freighter with its sparking, broken, burning contrail.

"They're heading for the sun…" Switch muttered softly, not sparing a glance to Pax as his fingers danced over the console still. Pax noticed the fifth digit on his right hand was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly knocked out of its sitting joint on his palm. "If they slingshot again, the gravity push can clear them from the system."

"We've lost comms," Download said, finally sitting back from the still form of his brother. He held Upload's lifeless hand in his own, looking into Pax's optics, spark weary exhaustion framing every word. "If they clear the system, they could get a clean transmission out."

"Crash into them, Switch. Drive them into the sun." Pax remained standing beside Switch, his hand still gripping the back of his chair. Download sighed, leaning forward to rest his helm against the chassis of his brother. Pax had a moment to spare a fond farewell for Download, as his spark ceased it's pulsing next to the still frame of his twinned spark. 'Chip, Primus bless him, turned back to his console, shunting power to reinforce the electromag plating at the front of the freighter. They had to survive the collision long enough to set their final course.

The Quintessons had slowed, their dying spacecraft unable to carry forward any more. Switch coaxed one last joule out of their own dying spacecrafts engines, before plunging headlong into the portside aft of the Quintesson craft.

The impact was unholy in its pure, unadulterated destructive power. The command deck exploded around him, all structural integrity shattered around the frame of the freighter. Every console exploded around him in a shimmering hailstorm of fire and sparks. 'Chip, caught in the fireball of his former consoles explosion, collapsed to the deck, his processor melted completely, offlining his self immediately. His spark flared briefly, then shut out forever.

Switch had been jarred from his seat on impact, flying sideways and crashing into Pax's side. They both tumbled to the deck, missing the firestorm of the exploding console, but not avoiding the tumbling plating crashing down around them.

Pax struggled to stand, Switch moaning on top of him. He gripped Switch close to this frame, hauling them both to his feet. He stumbled, realizing with a detached surprise that he was missing the lower half of his left leg. Energon was rapidly pooling on the floor around them, and he looked down to see Switch had a long, jagged gash in his mid back, a piece of hull plating buried into the right side, slicing neatly through his main energon line from his pump to his lower extremities. Switch's breathing was rapid, ragged, his optics flickering and wide. His hands gripped Pax's shoulder, clinging to him in his final moments.

The impact had sent both craft tumbling through space. At the last second, perhaps anticipating the impact, the Quintessons had changed course, but were unable to escape their final impact. It was enough, however, to change Switch's precisely projected course heading. Both craft spun, end over end, not towards the sun, but instead towards the surface of the third planet. The azure and white marbled world rapidly filled the final flickerings of the viewscreen, imminent impact alarms futilely attempting to warn the freighters occupants of their fate.

Pax sighed. It was done. The Quintessons were finished. Cybertron was free. Finally free. Surprisingly, he wasn't sad to realize he would never see it for himself. Nothing would change the fact that their homeworld was free, whether he was there to experience it or not. From the Matrix, he would be able to revel in the new life given to his planet, and to his people.

He looked down to Switch, still clinging to his shoulder, his arms tightly wrapped around his frame. Switch's optics were watching him, wide, his breaths hitching in his vents, ragged and frothy. "Switch… I never told you… what you meant to me…" Pax whispered above the alarms of the command deck, his whisper seemingly overloud to both him and Switch's audials. He raised his hand to cup Switch's face plates, thumb stroking his bruised and bloody cheekridge.

"You…" Switch gasped, energon spilling out his lip plates. "You never needed to," he breathed out, holding Pax's optics and finally pouring his pent-up and long-shuttered love into his final gaze.

Pax lowered his head, capturing Switch's energon stained lip plates in their first and final kiss, as the combined hulks of the two freighters burned through the third planets atmospheres and plunged to the ground below.

On the formerly peaceful planets surface, a brontosaurus glanced up from his lunch of tree leaves, turning his head towards the unusual sound breaking through the forest. Several miles away, a group of pterodactyls squawked and flapped away, sensitive brains detecting the sudden and rapid changes in the air waves, signaling an event they had never before encountered, or anticipated. A triceratops paused from his morning drink at the still waters of the lake edge to look up at the streaking fireball, plunging to the ground.

On impact, the joined crafts sent a plume of smoke and debris high into the atmosphere. A sonic boom shattered the landscape, and the super heated gases of the explosive impact ignited fires across the entire northern hemisphere. All life within 400 miles of the impact was immediately extinguished, obliterated by the heat, shockwaves, and radiation from the crafts. Tidal waves rocked the peninsula, sending reverberating waves around the world. As the dust rocketed into the upper atmospheres, the sky darkened, added to by the innumerable fires burning uncontrollably across half the planet. A dark and unnatural winter settled over the planet, the suns warmth prevented from warming and feeding the plant life on the surface. Organic life across the globe shuttered, and began to die.

~ _65 Million Years Later _~

It was, Jazz thought much, much later, a completely inauspicious start to the end of his world.

Jazz woke up in a generally agreeable mood. He grabbed his morning energon in the rec room, trading banter with Bumblebee before scooting out the door. He had the early shift on comms, and walked up to the command deck whistling a catchy tune he had picked up off Earth's pop radio stations.

He walked into the command deck to find Prowl beginning his pre-patrol briefing with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Prowl cast a sidelong glance to Jazz as he strolled in, still whistling away. Prowl paused his brief long enough to arch an optic ridge towards Jazz.

Jazz grinned, waving a cheeky good morning, but stopped whistling for his friend. Prowl found it distracting during his briefings or on duty, the audial input racing across the sensor relays of his doorwings, causing all manner of generally distracting and, to Prowl, irritating displays. Jazz hummed instead, low and softly, having found that Prowl never complained about his humming.

Prowl resumed his briefing. "We've discovered intermittent Decepticon signals in these grids." He indicated to the maps displayed on the illuminated free-standing island in the back of the command deck. It was useful for planning and preparations meetings of the command staff, as well as pre-patrol briefs. Prowl had been quiet excited, in his own way, to have Wheeljack install the tactical island. The rest of the Ark had been less enthused, but understood the tactical, and admittedly administrative, significance. "We will begin our patrol in sector E-7, then move on to D-7, and C-7, respectively. We'll keep in a spread wedge formation. Sideswipe and I taking front, Sunstreaker, you will bring up the rear. Each of us will utilize full spectrum sensor scans on our designated grid." He paused, looking to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, each standing on the opposite side of the island. Sideswipe looked bored, never paying rapt attention to any briefing. Sunstreaker looked mildly irritated, not interested in the finer points of tactics or patrol. "Understood?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker nodded, heads bobbling, eager to get to their patrol. Each of them looked forward to the patrol as a way to potentially, hopefully, engage the Decepticons. Prowl had decided long ago that only a few officers would ever go out with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker together, as the two of them would barely be controllable if and when an engagement were to occur. Jazz had readily agreed, and was one of the few officers that went out with them at times. He couldn't really imagine Bumblebee, or Hound, taking patrol with the twins.

"Which grid are we starting on?" Prowl asked Sideswipe.

"E-7," Sideswipe droned, bored tone belying that he had indeed heard every word.

"And then moving on to?" Prowl turned to Sunstreaker.

"D-7, then C-7." Sunstreaker's sulky, anger riddled tone was inescapable to miss.

"What formation?"

"Spread wedge." The twins answered in unison.

Prowl nodded once, satisfied. He hefted his acid pellet gun, the twins onlineing and loading their own weaponry. "Lets go."

Once outside, Prowl and the twins initiated their transformations, striking out onto their patrol precisely on time. They passed Hound and Bluestreak, returning from their night shift, checking in with Jazz at comms as they crossed into the Ark's perimeter. Prowl gave the final call out as they left the perimeter, echoed a moment later by the Perimeter Patrols confirmation of their leaving to Ark comms. Jazz confirmed each communication relay per procedure, idly flipping through the last nights log. Blaster had logged a procurement requisition for Ratchet, which Ratchet must have signed off personally for. The log showed Ratchet's own signature confirming the call. There was an alpha band call for Prime from the Pentagon, secure and funneled straight to Prime's office. It had come through in the middle of the night shift. Jazz frowned, worried that Prime was over working again.

The last call was a personal communication for Bumblebee from Spike, halfway around the world on a school trip. All in all, a quiet night shift. Jazz leaned back in his chair, hands crossed behind his helm, and resumed his whistling in the quiet, early morning command deck.

It was mid morning when Prowl's communication came in, on the tight, high frequency band. "Ark Ops, Prowl. Contact. Repeat, hostile contact. We have engaged." The comms were shorting out, static filling the line as the Decepticons starting jamming the signal.

Jazz stopped his carefree whistling, dropping his chair back to the command deck. "Prowl, Ark Ops. Acknowledged." He flipped the Ark's internal communications systems, sounding the enemy contact alarm and notifying the rapid reaction squads to mobilize.

"Ark Ops, this is Perimeter 2." Cliffjumper's voice came over the Ark's comms lines, voice filling the speakers as Prime burst onto the command deck.

"What's the situation, Jazz?"

"Perimeter 2, Ark Ops. Go ahead." Jazz toggled the Arks comms to Cliffjumper's band.

"Ark Ops, Perimeter 2. We have a flare from the patrol's sector." There was a pause. "Confirmed, it's Sunstreaker's."

The flares and incendiary rounds had been another of Prowl's additions. Ironhide had readily agreed with his recommendations to add them to the patrols, and both had recommended the rounds to Prime together. Jazz had agreed as well, once their application was explained to him. With Soundwave's ever increasing adaptability to their defenses, the potential for jamming was ever present. The flares and illumination rounds allowed for the roving patrols to rapidly relay to the perimeter patrols their need for aid, and for deployment of the rapid reaction squads.

"Prowl's patrol's run into the 'Con's, Prime. Comms to them are gettin' jammed. " Jazz's good mood of earlier had been lost the moment he heard his friend had run into trouble.

"Who's with him?"

" Side's and Sunny."

Ironhide's voice broke through the Ark's internal comm. "Ops, Ironhide. My squad is ready to roll out." The rapid reaction squads were small fire teams, made up of off duty, but on-call mechs. They were fully loaded and ready to quickly respond if needed when their active, on duty patrols were outside the Ark's perimeter. It had been unusual to see the fire teams wandering around the ark fully loaded and armed while on call, as most mechs dumped their excess weaponry when off duty. However, this had been another modification made to the Ark's combat operations by Prowl and Prime, after several Primusly long communication exchanges between Prime and the Pentagon.

Prime nodded to Jazz. "Send them out."

Jazz nodded, flicking the line to Ark's internal comm network. "You're clear to roll out. Go get those 'Cons."

"Don' you worry." Ironhide's voice was darkly dangerous, already having dropped himself into his battle mainframe.

Jazz flipped back to the Ark's wider comm net. "Perimeter Patrols, Ark Ops. Ironhide's squad cleared for departure. They're headin' you're way."

Cliffjumper responded again. "Ark Ops, Perimeter Patrol 2. Ironhide's squad cleared. We sent them the triangulation of Sunstreaker's flare."

"It'll take us 12 minutes to get there," Ironhide voice called back through the battle channels, now open and free to the command deck. Jazz had onlined the battle net as Prowl had reported enemy contact. All mechs operating now were linked together in the common battle net communication relay.

12 minutes was a long time, for the mechs going top speed to the patrol's location. Jazz called up the grid of E-7, Prowl's patrol's first sector. The far edge of E-7 brushed up against the edges of the mountain range, neatly forming the far exterior of their operational zone. It was the furthest point from the Ark's base. A lot could happen out there, a single patrol against innumerable Decepticons. A lot could happen in 12 minutes.

"What's the status on the Aerialbots?" Prime asked.

Jazz flicked back to the Ark's internal comms. "Silverbolt, Ops. Are you 'bots ready to launch?" The Aerialbots didn't run patrols, but were instead on permanent rapid aviation reaction force standby. Whenever a patrol ran into problems, or the 'Cons, the Aerialbots were sent out with the reaction squad to provide air support, and to engage the Seekers, if Starscream was out with his trine.

Silverbolt responded quickly. "We're launching now."

"Ironhide's on the move already. He estimates it will take 12 minutes to reach their location." Jazz uploaded Cliffjumper's triangulated coordinates to Silverbolt. "What's your fastest you can get to 'em?"

Silverbolt quickly analyzed the data, and Jazz heard the roar of the Aerialbots launching from outside the Ark. "We can get there in 6 minutes."

Prime nodded behind them, then spoke over the battle net. "Let's go get our patrol, Autobots. Find them quickly. Bring them home."

After that, things started happening fast.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crash Into You**

Chapter Two

* * *

Ratchet swore, uninterrupted, for several breems. It was all the more impressive that he never repeated himself, though he switched from English to the more colorful Cybertronian after exhausting his English vocabulary.

Hoist, Wheeljack and First Aid were doing their best to prep the med bay for their incoming patients, simultaneously ignoring Ratchet and attempting to placate him. He finished shoving the last of his emergency field repair gear into his overlarge kit case and rounded on the three medics. _Well_, he thought grimly, looking over their slightly squirming forms, _one nurse, one medic, and one annoying cheerful mechanic cum medic_.

Wheeljack stepped forward, audio fins flashing. "Go on, Ratch. We've got it here. Skyfire is waiting."

Ratchet grunted, nodding. He glared at Hoist and First Aid, certain that they were up for the task despite his outward hostility. First Aid had actually been progressing remarkably well, and despite his incident of pure terror during his first mass casualty event, had grown into a solid and dependable medic. Hoist was, as always, calm and ordered, though overquiet in the face of the looming casualties. He always preferred the well-visits, the routine exams and tune-ups. Not this.

Ratchet grabbed his kit and nodded one last time to Wheeljack. "Don't mess anything up," he growled on the way out the door, hurrying down the corridor to meet up with Skyfire at the Ark entrance.

Silverbolt had comm'd back to the Ark, rising above the range of the jamming signal the Decepticons had used. "We're going to need Ratchet out here." The signal was still choked with static. "Prowl is down."

Ratchet had joined the battle net after hearing Silverbolt's communiqué, though he had been tracking it in his medbay while beginning the prep for battle casualties. "What's his situation, Silverbolt?"

Silverbolt's hesitation had not been helpful. "He and Starscream were… I don't know Ratchet, it looks like he took a Null Ray to his chest."

That was when Ratchet had started cursing. "And the others?"

"We've got some injuries, Sunstreaker is down it looks like… I can't see Sideswipe, but I'm reading his energy field. Prowl's definitely the worst." It was Silverbolt's tone that told him how bad things really were.

Jazz's voice came quickly over the battle net, sounding tight and unnatural. "Ratchet, I've got Skyfire online and ready to launch in less than breem."

"I'll meet him at the Ark entrance," Ratchet had growled, then started yelling on his medical comm frequencies for Hoist, First Aid and Wheeljack to get their afts to his med bay, quickly.

* * *

Prowl, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been rounding out the 2nd joor in their patrol of E-7, swinging along the far edge of their patrol perimeter. The mountain ranges were rising up in front of them, majestic and ethereal. Prowl had quietly thought ever since awakening on this planet that the organic flora and fauna were stunning in their primitive, natural ways. It reminded him of the Helix Gardens, where the crystals had been given reign to grow and blossom into their beautiful forms in the mechanical wilderness. But even the Towers, gorgeous with their crystal spires and polished ores, couldn't compete in Prowl's CPU with the natural, wild wonders of this organic world.

It made him feel not a small bit like Hound, who he currently wished he was on patrol with. He sighed, his alt mode rumbling his engine as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker continued their bickering over the comm lines. Sunstreaker was highly incensed over the hard-packed dirt trails they were using, bitterly complaining about his paintjob and suspension. Sideswipe was unhelpfully pointing out each and every ding, dust streak and tree leaf sappily stuck to his frame. They hadn't picked up anything in their patrol thus far, and were about to make the turn to bring them into sector D-7. He gave one last look to the craggy mountain face in front of him before turning to the right.

His processor caught something that didn't seem right though, and he flashed his optics one last time to the rock face. A glint of metal, shiny amidst the dull grey granite, leapt out at him. He had only a moment to swing his alt mode around and transform, warning the twins with a shout as the rocket was launched right at the three of them.

They dove to the sides, the twins landing in small creekbed tributary, Prowl pressing himself into the trees off the dirt trail they were currently on. The rocket impacted the trail floor, sending dirt, rocks, and detritus all around, and leaving a small crater in the middle of their road. Prowl peered out from behind his tree, acid pellet rifle armed and held up ready to fire. He heard, more than saw, the three Seekers' jet engines rumble from the rock face. Knowing he only had moments before their jamming started, he contacted the Ark.

Across the trail, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were already up in their battle stances; Sideswipe down low, scanning the skies while Sunstreaker stood higher, hefting his rifle and making ready to fire on the passing Seekers.

They flew overhead, low, seeking their prey. As one, the patrol leapt out and fired on the passing flyers, running quickly back down the trail and diving for cover again. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker subspaced their rifles, and Sideswipe ran low across the trail, diving into the tree line near where Prowl was. Sunstreaker crept onto the trail as the Seekers turned, and headed straight for them.

Sunstreaker stood, cocky and arrogant in the middle of the trail, taunting the Seekers with his positioning. He held his ground as the Seekers barreled down, Prowl becoming nervous as the laser shots started peppering the ground closer and closer to the golden Lambo.

When the Seekers were nearly on top of them, and the shots were far too close for both Prowl and Sunstreaker's liking, Sunstreaker dove back to the side of the trail, dropping to the edge of the creek bed and holding a silent count with Sideswipe. As the Seekers jetted past, the twins, in perfect unison, leapt from their crouched hiding place and each landed securely on Skywarp's and Thundercracker's wings, respectively, leaving Prowl all alone.

Prowl was momentarily stunned. He had certainly been on the battlefield with the twins before, and had seen their Jet Judo from afar, but had never been right there, next to the twin terrors as they silently and with perfect synchronization executed their maneuver. The simultaneous actions and counteractions, the synchronization, was brilliant. Prowl was momentarily awed by the tactical brilliance of the setup, for half an astroclick.

And then he was fired upon, repeatedly, by an enraged Starscream. He had lost his trinemates, who were now flying erratically and dangerously, attempting to shake off their unwanted passengers. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Starscream had turned and immediately zeroed in on the remaining Autobot on the trail, half hidden in the trees.

Prowl raised his pellet rifle and sighted in on the incoming seeker. He held his cover as null-ray blasts shattered the trees around him, jumping to his side on the trail as Starscream raced past. He fired a series of successive shots at the Air Commander's thrusters, landing glancing blows to the wings, cockpit, and finally, to the thrusters themselves.

Howling in rage, Starscream's thrusters shutting down, he circled back around for another pass at Prowl. His damaged thrusters wouldn't get him there though, and he transformed before landing a good distance down the trail from Prowl, who had scrambled to his feet, weapon at the ready.

As soon as Starscream landed, Prowl was firing once again. Starscream sneered, firing his null-rays at the Autobot 2IC as they both dove for cover along the side of the trail. The sound of jet engines screaming low and dangerously towards them had Prowl looking up, just in time to see Thundercracker barrel rolling low overhead, screaming, as a somewhat dizzy and sick looking Sideswipe held onto the internals of his shattered cockpit for dear life.

That momentary distraction proved to be all Starscream needed and he launched himself at a dead run down the trail towards Prowl. Prowl rose to fire again, but Starscream got to him before he managed to re-arm.

Starscream slammed into Prowl, crashing both into the tree line behind them. A tall pine snapped at the impact, shaking and cracking against the force of the two mechs. Prowl was momentarily distracted as his helm hit the tree's trunk, Starscream again capitalizing on the opportunity to land a series of hard, fast punches to Prowl's face and neck.

Prowl managed to wrench his bent leg up between them, shoving with his knee joint until there was space between the two mech's bodies for his own hands to come up, fisting in Starscream neck cables for purchase. Starscream sneered, jumping backwards. "Well Prowl," he hissed. "Seems your patrol has found some trouble."

Prowl unsteadily pushed up from the cracked tree trunk. He wasn't a melee fighter, wasn't built for such heavy impact. His weapon lay useless, slipped from his hands at the trail's edge. Starscream raised his null rays, point blank at Prowl's chest armor, right at his spark. "I will greatly enjoy finally seeing you die."

Prowl lunged, headfirst at Starscream. His shoulder slammed up into Starscream's arm, knocking the null ray blast up and wide and shattering the rotator joint. Starscream howled, driven back with the pain and shock of the impact. He regained his footing though, grasping Prowl's shoulder strut and flinging him over onto the trail. Prowl lay on his back, vents whirring and gasping in pain, damaged systems protesting noisily over his HUD.

Starscream stalked over to Prowl, kicking roughly at his chassis as Prowl tried to scramble, backwards and away. "Don't move, Autoscum!" Starscream screeched, disjointed arm hanging limp and useless at his side. He pounced on Prowl, using his heavier weight to subdue the Autobot 2IC into stillness. He swung his arm down, hard, on Prowl's helm, grinning at the loud smack. Energon poured from Prowl's left optic, cheekarch crushed and mouthplates smashed and oozing. He swung his arm down again, leaving the mech laying limply on the dusty, dirty trail ground.

Prowl's remaining optic blearily tried to focus in on him, and he tried to raise his hands, unsteadily to fight off Starscream's attacks. Starscream growled, smacking his hands away, and Prowl's grip landed on Starscream's cockpit, just above his spark chamber, weakly scrambling for a hold in the other mech's armor.

Starscream had enough. He pulled his good arm in front of his body, aiming his null ray directly down into Prowl's chest once again. Prowl's optic widened, and his grip on Starscream's cockpit tightened fearfully. Starscream held his gaze, charged his null ray and smiled.

Then he fired.

* * *

Sideswipe was really beginning to hate Jet Judo.

He was chassis-deep in Thundercracker, having destroyed the glass cockpit immediately, scratching and tearing at sensitive internals as best he could at the ridiculous speeds they were going. Thundercracker did everything he could to shake Sideswipe, but the further into his cockpit Sideswipe got, the more handholds he was able to cling to.

After the barrel roll however, when Sideswipe's equilibrium chips were dazed and shorting from the far too rapid data reception, he felt his hold loosening, his CPU slowing. Thundercracker was increasing his speed even more, trying to get the other mech to blackout from energon rushes, disrupting the flow to his vital systems. He dove in even deeper, laying full out on the jet, hands deep inside the cockpit and around the jet's internal chair, when Sunstreaker's voice broke through his bond.

::Any closer and you're going to be spark merging with him.:: Sunstreaker's voice was maddeningly calm, sarcastic, unfazed. He always seemed to become more normal, if there was a normal for Sunstreaker, in battle.

::And just why the Pit are you so calm?:: Sideswipe shouted back across their bond.

He wasn't answered in words as much as in action, as Sunstreaker, now off of Skywarp, started shooting at Thundercracker's underwings. Thundercracker, enraged at the dual dose of Lambo terrors, flipped his jet form and raced to the Earth. Sunstreaker, thankfully, stopped shooting as Sideswipe's exposed body lay on the side now presented to his aim.

::Jump, Sides!:: Sunstreaker called across their bond, and Sideswipe did just that, waiting until Thundercracker was just calling his own bluff and pulling up from his high speed careen to the ground before he let go of the cockpit and crashed sideways into the tree line.

Sideswipe knew it was going to hurt, but did not expect to end up with a tree branch impaled through the window on his side. He struggled to stand, not being able to get to his feet. He looked down, confused, though both his legs were happily still attached. He looked behind him, and saw the branch he so unhelpfully landed on, was in actuality a small pine sapling, still embedded in the earth.

Sideswipe groaned, leaning backwards. He heard the sound of jet engines over head and struggled to stand, desperate not to be offlined while pinned to the ground by a tree. ::Sunny!:: he called out. ::Help me!::

He heard two jets come down low for a landing, glancing up at the trail in panic. He relaxed, only slightly, when he saw the familiar forms of Air Raid and Skydive land on the dirty, dusty ground, then rush away from him, down towards the crater in the trail.

"What about me!" He called out after their retreating forms.

* * *

Sunstreaker didn't see, but most definitely heard, what had happened below between Starscream and Prowl. He had instantly tensed, feeling Skywarp's own response to his trinemate's actions. Skywarp decided to end this Jet Judo immediately, heading straight for a copse of trees on the rocky cliff face. Sunstreaker allowed him to increase his speed, the Seeker seemingly intent on plunging through the tree branches to manually scrape Sunstreaker off. He jumped into the craggy treetops as the Seeker shook him off, for once the two warriors agreeing on something.

Sunstreaker broke the tree's branches clean in half on the force of his landing, sliding down to the earth below him amidst a cacophony of breaking timber. He hit the ground hard, not pausing to stop, just continuing to down the mountainside, desperate to get to the trail. He broke out of the tree line and onto the trail a few moments later, his overlarge footsteps able to cover great distances and sidestep the rocky hazards with ease. Skywarp had landed on the opposite side from the pair of mechs in the middle of the trail, equally far from them as Sunstreaker was.

He took off running just as Skywarp did, racing towards the two mechs, one his commanding officer, one his arch enemy. They were locked in some sort of electrical connection, showers of sparks and electrical energy arcing off of them. The air around the both of them vibrated intensely, thick with charged current and hate. Starscream's helm was thrown back, a shrill and audial-piercing, pained shriek emanating from his vocalizer. Prowl's hands were fixed, unmoving on Starscream's cockpit.

Sunstreaker was closer to Starscream's side though, and reached the Decepticon Air Commander before Skywarp. He launched himself, full force, at the side of the screaming, shrieking Air Commander.

He was hit with a searing blast of shockingly painful electrical current. It spiked briefly, then vanished as the contact between Starscream and Prowl was broken. He rolled, bringing Starscream with him as Skywarp raced to their side, arm rifle pointed at Sunstreaker's helm as Sunstreaker pulled his own rifle and pointed it right back at Skywarp.

Thundercaracker's screech and low fly-by made them both look up, Sunstreaker still crouched low near the now-still form of Starscream. "Thundercracker! Get down here, now!" Skywarp shouted into his comm. Static filled the line. Sideswipe must have managed to destroy the Seeker's comm lines.

Sunstreaker was more concerned with Prowl, still and unmoving in the middle of the trail than in the shifting eyes and cowardice of Skywarp. He growled, shoving off the trail's ground and racing to his commanding officer's side as Skywarp hurried to his trinemate's own.

What Sunstreaker saw stilled his movements, halting his attempts at emergency field aid.

Lightening seemed to dance across Prowl's chassis, arcing up and off in little tendrils of electrical explosions. His frame was still, unmoving, hands still locked in their position above, as if Starscream was still pressing down on him and he was fighting off his cockpit. There was a large, black scorch mark, dead center on his chestplate. His helm was bent back, half of it crushed in, one optic cracked and shattered. Energon pooled underneath his helm, sticky and warm.

Prowl's mouth was open in a silent scream, electrical arcs cracking off his denta, again and again.

Sunstreaker had no knowledge of what to do. He hadn't the faintest clue on how to go about treating this. He didn't even know where to begin.

The sonic boom above jolted him back to reality, away from the slowly sticking thoughts in his processor. Sideswipe was still out there, and as he glanced up, he saw Thundercracker and his twin still locked in their battle. He called out to Sideswipe over the bond, needing to get his brother down to the ground, needing to end this.

Sunstreaker started at the sudden blasting of jet engines to his right, having forgotten entirely about Skywarp's own fumblings with his wingmate. Skywarp hadn't fared any better with his own aid to Starscream, and had opted for better part of valor, retreating into the sky with Starscream draped in his arms. Sunstreaker didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Starscream didn't have an electrical storm racing through his systems.

He lifted his weapon, taking aim at the retreating forms and firing three shots before they were out of range. Two grazed Skywarp's outer wing. One had been too low.

Sideswipe was coming down with Thundercracker, the trinemate finally managing to get the message that the battle was over and he was being left alone. Dropping in front of Prowl's frame, lest any return shots be fired, Sunsteaker covered Prowl's prone form and took aim at Thundercracker's wings, stopping only when the blue Seeker flipped, putting his brother directly in the line of fire. Sunstreaker called out to Sideswipe to jump moments later, feeling along their bond that Sideswipe had made an uncomfortable landing, but not an overly damaging one.

Sunstreaker turned back to Prowl. The sticky energon pool beneath his helm had grown fractionally. If it was growing, then the pumps were still working inside, and if his pumps were still going, then he was still alive. Sunstreaker knew next to nothing about medical aid, having only been forced to learn what was necessary for all frontliners to know, but even that had been entirely unwelcome knowledge – at the time.

Now, he almost wished he had paid more attention to the content of Ratchet's yelling and swearing when he was in the medbay. Maybe it would have helped him here. Despite being in the medbay almost as many cycles as Ratchet was in an earth month – the overnight stays helped considerably there – he was useless to help Prowl.

But he did remember his basic energon rupture and loss control, dropping once again down beside Prowl. He had a few polishing cloths stored away in his subspace, useful for touchups in the rec room when an overly friendly, and brave, mech attempted to touch him. He pulled those out now, trying to gently lift his commander's head slightly to press the rags into the oozing gashes on the base of his helm.

The sound of jet engines overhead made Sunstreaker grab his weapon again, pointing it towards the sky and crouching low over Prowl once more. He thought the Seekers were gone now, their general and predictable cowardice coming to the fore once more. Sunstreaker always suspected that he'd die by the Seekers. However he wasn't sure anymore that they'd stick around long enough to actually fight him to offlining.

Thankfully, Primusly, it was the Aerialbots who were streaking overhead in a messy but effective formation. Two peeled away, coming down to the trail and transforming as the other two jets circled above. The Concorde, their leader, was already in contact with the Ark.

Air Raid knew only slightly more than Sunstreaker did about emergency field aid. He at least knew Prowl wasn't dead when he first saw him, which was more than Sunstreaker did. Skydive knew more than both of them combined, which still wasn't much, but it was better than what they had. It was Skydive who suggested an energon transfer, and turned immediately to Air Raid for his lines, who balked at the idea. Sunstreaker quickly bared his arm, letting Skydive roughly pull the main energon arterial line and spike it with a transfer cord into Prowl's central descending chest line.

It was in that situation that Ratchet found the four of them, racing over to their side with his overlarge field kit and swearing at them to get clear of his patient. Skyfire transformed after Ratchet cleared his shuttle, swatting away at the dust storm he had created when he shrieked into a rather dangerous landing. He wasn't able to help Ratchet with Prowl, except by staying out of the way.

An explosion of rocks on the cliff face next to Skyfire signaled the imminent landing of Fireflight. He had found the Decepticon jamming beacon, intrigued by the subtle pinging that his overly sensitive nodes could pick up on. He had flown around the area until he localized the pings, then, slightly entranced, dove lower. At the last click he had remembered to destroy the beacon, but forgot that he was within the blast radius. He was treated to a hail of rocks and debris as he squeaked and blasted away from the rock face.

Fireflight saw Skyfire standing some distance away from his brothers, Sunstreaker, Prowl and Ratchet. Fireflight was worried, very worried about Prowl. The 2IC had been exceptionally kind to him once and Fireflight had never forgotten it. His brother, Skydive, was moving to sit next to Sunstreaker and looking like it was the last place on Earth he wanted to be. Ratchet shouted something at the two of them that Fireflight couldn't hear, and Sunstreaker, his face clearly showing just what he thought of Ratchet's order, glowered murderously at Skydive until Sunstreaker turned, stiffly, and laid down on the ground next to Prowl, his helm supported by Skydive's lap. The transfer cord still stretched between Sunstreaker and Prowl.

"That looks pretty bad," Fireflight said to Skyfire, glancing nervously up at the larger shuttle. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"For the slaggin' love of Primus, will you two finally get over here!"

Skyfire and Fireflight jumped, turning to the tree line where what sounded like a very irritated Sideswipe had snapped at them.

"Sideswipe?" Skyfire called out uncertainly.

"Yes, Primus, finally! I can see you, but you can't see me just yet. Keep walking forward… yes, that's it… Good. Mind givin' me a hand?"

Skyfire's mouth dropped open at the sight of the haughty, boisterous Sideswipe impaled through his side on a baby sapling. Sideswipe clearly did not see the humor in the situation, and was glowering at the both of them to rival Sunstreaker. Fireflight was entirely oblivious to the wrath of the Lambo twin, instead exclaiming, entirely innocently, "Oh! I do that all the time! Did you see a bird too?"

Skyfire did his best to hide his chuckles as he went to help the stunned and fuming Sideswipe, though he briefly wondered if he should leave Sideswipe immobilized until Fireflight managed to clear out. As he approached Sideswipe, the red twin glowered at him murderously. "Not a word. To anyone. Understand?" His voice was low, tight, and steaming.

"Not a word. Got it." Skyfire reached down behind Sideswipe and pulled. With a grunt, Sideswipe was free of the earth, the proud owner of a new pine sapling. He stood, bringing the newly freed tree up with him, trailing dirt and roots behind him. Sideswipe turned a murderous, 'promises of certain death' filled glare on Skyfire. "I cannot be sure to leave you uninjured if I were pull it out of you myself." His delivery would have been much better if he didn't crack a small smile at the very end.

Sideswipe stalked to the trail, pine sapling giving him an extra 3 feet of clearance needed on each side. He passed Fireflight, still glowering, and turned at the last second. Fireflight had to duck quickly to avoid being smacked in the chest by Sideswipe's new tree appendage. "This isn't funny!" Sideswipe hissed.

Skyfire just grinned, both at Sideswipe's anger and Fireflight's horrified yet amused expression. His humor was abruptly cut short though as he heard Ratchet hollering for him from the trail.

Ironhide and his squad had arrived while Skyfire was in the trees with Sideswipe. They glanced over to Sideswipe, Bluestreak's optics going wide as he saw the damage to the tree. Sideswipe, for his part, kept his glower to a slow, murderous rage. Ironhide quickly ordered his squad to set a perimeter around the trail and to keep their optics and audials open for any further Decepticons.

Slingshot and Silverbolt still circled overhead, providing cover for the mechs on the ground. Ratchet had done the best he could to stabilize Prowl, which wasn't much, considering the extensive damages he was currently sporting. The electrical arcs were smaller off his frame, but still active. Ratchet had donned grounding gloves to begin his work, which he hastily now removed and threw into his kit bag.

Skyfire noticed the large, collapsible, metal rescue baskets being assembled by Air Raid. They opened at one end, with horizontal slats interlocking when closed. Skydive stood to help his brother wrap one around Prowl under the ever-watchful optics of Ratchet, then secured it and stood as one. turning towards Skyfire.

Skyfire promptly transformed, opening his hanger to allow the two Aerialbots to bring the patient in. They clambered up the ramp, securing Prowl's rescue basket to the side bench, strapping him in.

Skyfire heard Ratchet holler at Fireflight and Sideswipe outside. "What the slag are you two doing standing there? Get over here and help Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe must have been facing Ratchet head on, hoping to hide his unfortunate tree problem. Ratchet found out several seconds later though, and Skyfire was treated to a lovely bout of cursing from their CMO. "What the Pit did you do, Sideswipe? Are you taking flying lessons from Fireflight now?"

Skyfire started the pre-flight checks, warming his engines for the ride back. Skydive and Air Raid hopped out of his hanger as Fireflight and Ratchet carried Sunstreaker up his ramp. The golden twin would have bitterly protested the treatment any other day, indeed having been known to carry his own missing limbs home from the battle, but was this time so out of it from the depleted energon of the battle and his subsequent field transfer that he barely even knew he was being moved. Ratchet fixed Sunstreaker's basket to the opposite side of the shuttle, then set up a flow drip of energon and coolant into Sunstreaker.

"Let's go!" Ratchet called to Skyfire, rapping on the bulkhead. Fireflight beat a hasty exit, joining his brothers at the base of the ramp with Sideswipe.

"Sideswipe?"

"He'll live. He's going with Ironhide. We need to move now!"

Wasting no more time, Skyfire began his ascent, plotting the course back to the Ark and engaging his powerful space thrusters. Ratchet immediately set to work on Prowl again, trying to ascertain just what in the Pit had happened to their 2IC.


	3. Chapter 3

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 3

* * *

The news of what happened to Prowl traveled quickly throughout the Ark. Unfortunately for Sideswipe, the news of his own unfortunate tree incident went around just as quickly, a humorous balm to the gear-stopping worry they all felt over their 2IC.

Prime had waited at the Ark entrance for Skyfire's landing, personally alerting Wheeljack and Hoist in the medbay of Ratchet's imminent arrival. He was wise enough to stay well out of the way of the gruff and frenzied medic until he was immediately ordered with First Aid, also waiting on standby, to help him get Prowl and Sunstreaker into the Ark. Prime took charge of Sunstreaker's trauma basket, the stiff and immobile frontliner looking oddly peaceful in his exhausted, sedated medical stasis and followed Ratchet and First Aid to the med bay.

The medbay was a whirl of activity, Ratchet calling out orders and demanding tools, parts and more intricate scanning equipment. Hoist was doing his best to control the vital energon and coolant systems, as best and as minimally as he could, what with the extensive and unpredictable electrical activity still surging though Prowl's frame and processor. Each surge caused the energon lines to rupture again, bleeding out all over the berth, floor, and team of medics. There was a trail of energon from within Skyfire and outside the Ark leading all the way into the medbay, bright pink and copious.

Prowl was oddly, eerily still through it all. Prime briefly wondered if it would have been better to see some sort of physical response to all the electrical currents and surges, some sort of seizure or contractions, something. When Wheeljack disappeared momentarily, coming back from his own lab with a dangerous and unusual looking piece of equipment that Ratchet was apparently motioning for him to link up to Prowl's peripherals, Prime beat a hasty exit. Sunstreaker was carefully deposited on a side berth. The golden Lambo was stable, merely drained.

He went back to the Ark's entrance, noting with sinking dread the sticky-sweet trail of energon from his 2IC that he was following. Skyfire was still at the Ark entrance, still in his alt mode. Prime heard low voices, recognizing Skyfire's quiet timbre, but not catching the voice of the mech inside Skyfire's hold. He ducked his helm into the spacious cabin, large even for his size.

Bumblebee was collecting the various and assorted medical spikes, lines, rags and clutter that Ratchet had gone through on their short flight back, covering the right side of Skyfire's crash-berth and floor. He was sorting the used and destroyed lines and cords from the reusable and cleanable spikes and instruments, quietly chirping away to Skyfire. He was keeping a running dialogue of each and every time Ratchet had performed a mechanical medical miracle. Currently, he was explaining to Skyfire the incident when Wheeljack had exploded his lab so entirely and completely that Ratchet had to collect the various pieces of Wheeljack before even attempting to piece him together again.

Skyfire was listening politely, agreeing and exclaiming in all the right places. Even though he was unacknowledged by either 'bot, Prime knew Skyfire was aware of his presence. "Bumblebee," Prime said, causing the minibot to pause and look up suddenly, distracting his monologue. "Thank you for cleaning Skyfire."

Bumblebee smiled, genuine yet short. "'Least I could do, with everything that has happened…" Prime set his hand on Bumblebee's shoulderjoint, dropping down to look him in the optics. "Thank you, Bumblebee. I, and Skyfire, greatly appreciate your thoughtfulness." Bumblebee smiled again, but dropped his head. There wasn't any happiness in his smile this time.

"He's going to be alright, right?" 'Bee's voice was nervous, quiet.

Prime never lied to his Autobots. It was an ultimate breach of trust that he never condoned. His job, his purpose, was to lead the mechs that had sworn their lives to their cause. How was he to do that effectively if he were to lie to them? How could they trust him with their lives, with their mission, if he was untruthful?

"I don't know, Bumblebee."

'Bee's shoulder's sagged, dropping low under the weight of truth and Prime's hand. "But I do know that Ratchet is working very hard on Prowl right now. He is doing everything he can. And, as you've already told Skyfire," Prime added with a small smile, "Ratchet is a very talented medical officer."

Bumblebee looked up into Prime's optics, searching across his gaze. Prime held his look, hoping 'Bee would find something helpful in his optics. Finally, 'Bee nodded, turning to head down Skyfire's ramp. "I'll see you inside, Skyfire," he said quietly, turning at the base of the ramp. "And Prime… thank you."

Prime sighed, hoping he had helped the young minibot in some way. As if Skyfire could read his thoughts, the shuttle's deep voice rumbled around him, "'Bee needed that."

Prime descended Skyfire's ramp himself, running a hand along the transformation seam above. "The last thing Ratchet needs is more patients at the moment."

Once Prime was clear, Skyfire transformed, stretching his limbs and standing next to Prime. "Ironhide's unit is coming in now."

Sure enough, the cloud of dust rising on the horizon was the rapid reaction squad returning. Prime could hear them all even before they approached the Ark entrance, bickering and cajoling the red Lambo twin seated inside Ironhide.

"The Aerialbots?"

"They've already landed." Skyfire would check in with Silverbolt shortly, the two of them having developed an odd sort of friendship, despite their entirely opposite fears in flying.

Sideswipe was in a particularly foul mood, if his silence and glower were anything to go by. Normally, Sideswipe was easy-going, able to roll with the jokes thrown at him and certainly deliver some of his own. The teasing comments about his extra appendage were going unacknowledged though, his frown increasing in severity with each mile they had traversed.

Bluestreak, Hound and Mirage all transformed as soon as they stopped near Skyfire and Prime, nodding to the two before assisting a very unwilling and grumpy Sideswipe out of Ironhide. They had to help him wedge and rock back and forth in order to dislodge the bulbous clump of roots that had jabbed into Ironhide's side window during some part of the journey. As soon as he was free, Sideswipe roughly pushed the others away, steadying himself and then stalking to Skyfire.

Prime saw Skyfire attempt to smother his grin, and spared a brief, inappropriate thought for his own battle mask. In truth, Prime found the sight of the impaled, and thankfully unhurt, Lambo hysterical. It was the ultimate mortification for Sideswipe, to be brought down by a tree, a baby tree, of all things. "Where is my brother?" Sideswipe hissed at Skyfire, glaring up at the shuttle with his hands on his hips. It would have been more impressive if Sideswipe had been closer to Skyfire. Despite his size difference with Skyfire, Sideswipe was one of the more intimidating and powerful mechs on the Ark. However, he was forced to remain three feet from Skyfire's chassis, baby pine tree limbs shaking with the vibrations of his frame and causing his implied deadly threat to be delivered with much less impact.

Skyfire was calm, feeling slightly bad that he had caused Sideswipe so much mortification, unintentional though it was. "Your brother is fine. He's resting comfortably in the medbay."

Sideswipe glowered one more time, first at Skyfire, then over his shoulderjoint at the sheepishly, impishly gathered squad. He started to march into the Ark with all of his wounded haughty dignity, but was stopped by Prime's hand coming down onto his shoulder.

"The medbay is no place for you right now. Your brother is fine, and thank Primus, you are functioning fully as well. Report to Grapple. He will assist you in removing your tree."

Sideswipe moved to argue, glaring and automatically starting to exclaim that he was going to his brother. Prime cut him off at once. "The medbay cannot deal with your interruption right now. They cannot."

Sideswipe wasn't happy about it, but quieted immediately. Ironhide's squad had quietly been talking about Prowl's injuries on the first part of their way back, before Bluestreak began laying into Sideswipe and abruptly changed the topic. He nodded once, then turned and walked far slower into the Ark.

Hound spoke up, possibly innocently, possibly not, considering the gleam in Mirage's eye. "But Prime! If we can get the tree out intact, we can save it! The roots are all there! It's be a great lil' tree for the Rec Room!"

Bluestreak lost it at that point, doubling over in hysterical laughter. Mirage smirked, the most amusement he would show, glancing sidelong at Hound's overly smiling face.

Ironhide took control before Prime needed too. "Alright you three, inside. No more tormenting Sideswipe, no matter how easy or fun it is. Get ta' the armory and dump ya' gear." Bluestreak had finally regained control of himself, and together with Hound, Mirage and Skyfire, went into the Ark amidst a chorus of yes sir's.

Prime watched them pass, then looked up into the sky. The sun was high overhead, nearly noon, Earth time. The morning had started so normally, so long ago. Now it seemed as if the world was off-tilted, unbent and spinning off its axis. Would he lose his 2IC? His most trusted advisor? His close friend?

Ironhide moved quietly to Prime's side. "Looked bad out there. Real bad." Prime didn't answer. Ironhide pressed on. "Ratch'll do it though. He always does. He'll pull through."

Prime sighed. Ratchet was a brilliant medic, perhaps the best on Cybertron. His skills were fine tuned and honed by vorns of battle. He was the best CMO they could have, no doubt. But, there were some things even Ratchet couldn't fix. Some things were too much, too much for even the Matrix. There were times and places, events that only the Well of All Sparks could mend.

Prime worried what would happen when Ratchet couldn't do it. He had done so much, saved so many. His losses were remarkably few and far between, but even those had been exclusively on Cybertron before joining the crew in Iacon, before they were even the Ark crew. Now that they were here, and the bonds they had were so much tighter, necessarily so as involuntary exiles and as the only family they all had left, what would happen when one of them finally fell?

Were they about to find out?

Prime once again placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, eerily reminiscent of his conversation with Bumblebee. Ironhide didn't need any words though. They had been friends for too long. Ironhide simply brought his own hand up to Prime's on his shoulder, squeezing his digits with the reassuring presence of his friendship.

Several clicks later, Ironhide went inside the Ark, leaving Prime to stand outside in the quiet noon sunlight. He knew that he would be needed inside the Ark, was already needed inside. Ratchet would eventually come to him with his report, telling him of Prowl's condition. The Pentagon would be calling again, their requests and reports becoming ever more erratic and confusing. The other mechs would need him, need his presence, should, or when, the worst were to happen.

Prime selfishly didn't want to hear it. He wanted to stand in the sunlight for a moment longer. The pressures of command weighed down upon him, swirling around his spark and the Matrix, pulsing with the combined force of all the Primes to pass before him. Which was left, at the end of the day, the Prime or the 'bot? Who did the sunlight shine on?

Shaking his head, pushing his melancholy thoughts to the side and preparing himself to be the loving, strong leader they all, including he himself, needed him to be, Prime turned and began to walk back into the Ark. As his optics adjusted to the dimmer light of the tunnel's entrance, he saw a figure hunched on the ground near where the dusty ground transitioned to smooth metal bulkhead. He still couldn't quite make out the form, but as he drew closer, his spark hitched in his chest.

Jazz was crouched low on the ground, piles of washrack towels strewn nearby, rubbing out the dried fluids and energon that had spilled from inside Prowl on his unconscious trek to the medbay.

* * *

Jazz heard Prime approaching, saw the shadow cast from his giant form stretch down the hall. He didn't want to be with any 'bot right now, didn't want to be the friendly mech. He had escaped the Command Deck when Inferno had slipped in, volunteering to take over Jazz's post as an excuse to be near Red Alert.

Prime stopped just over Jazz. "Inferno's on comms," Jazz pushed harder into a stubborn strip of oil that had dried in a small crack in the bulkhead.

"Jazz-" Prime began, but was cut off.

"M'fine, Prime. I jus' needed t' do somthin'." His accent was deep and thick, a clear sign that his processor was stressed. "'Bee was goin' t' start this. I told him t' go t' the Rec Room, rustle up some of t' others. 'Bot look'd like he needed a break." Jazz continued to wipe at the floor, moving along the lines of fluids leading deeper into the Ark.

"You don't need to do this, Jazz."

"I know." Jazz finally looked up at Prime through his visor, denta plates pulled tight and thin. "Grapple and Hot Spot'll come through soon enough." Still, Jazz continued his wiping. "I shut th' blas' doors for a bit. Wanted some peace n' quiet." Prime realized that Jazz's ever-present music, of some form or another, was absent.

Prime watched Jazz in silence for an astrosecond, then moved to the pile of clean towels and grabbed one for himself. He set down further inside than Jazz, helping him rub up the spilled and nearly dried oil, coolant, and energon.

Prime had known Jazz for hundreds of vorns, almost as long as he'd known Prowl. Only Ironhide was known longer to him personally of all the Autobots on the Ark. Prime had known Ratchet by reputation before he'd known Jazz and Prowl, but he had worked with the two bots personally far earlier than he had with Ratchet.

Prowl had been a young Enforcer, working with three others on a single patrol squad when Jazz joined their firebase on the ragged frontier border near Polyhex. Jazz was young, arrogant and talented, brash in everything he did. He was an attention hound, seeking to be the life of the party at all times. He was also the bane of Prowl's existence.

Prime remembered the arguments, vocalizers pitched to where every mech could hear them. They clashed on everything, from mission report formats to noise complaints, off duty decorum and etiquette to communications protocols. Jazz was destined for Special Operations work early, always thinking three steps outside the cube, improvising and revising at the last minute. His style was dirty, chaotic, last minute... but extremely effective.

As a gunner attached to Prowl's unit, it was a disaster. Prowl's commander, a grisly old 'bot not unlike Ironhide, had brought a fuming Prowl to the visiting Prime one cycle, steaming from an improvised alteration to their patrol routines. Jazz had led his team of gunners away from the patrol grid, cheekily giving Prowl the option to remain behind. Seeing as he was their Enforcer for the patrol, that was entirely unacceptable, and he had seethed through the entire seat-of-their-aft's detour. Ultimately, they had located a particularly confounding Decepticon jamming signal buoy, but the havoc it caused at the firebase, not knowing where the team was, especially in light of Prowl's ever-predictable routines and routes, was disastrous. The had nearly launched a full recovery operation just as Jazz strolled back onto base, laughing and playing his ever-loud music, Prowl bringing up the rear, absolutely miffed. Prowl was order, decorum, logic, and well thought out, well reasoned plans.

Prime sent Jazz to Iacon for SpecOps training shortly after that incident, and Prowl relaxed infinitesimally. He never got over his hatred of whistling though, glowering at all mechs who began to tunelessly whistle through their vocalizers.

When they abandoned the firebase, moving back to Iacon for their stand against the Decepticons there, Jazz and Prowl met again, this time as section leaders in Prime's battle group. Prowl had taken a detour through Praxus, assisting with the recovering efforts and the hunting of the Decepticons that turned his home to an utter wasteland. When he returned, bringing with him the only other survivor of Praxus, Prowl was now leading a battery of Enforcer squads, and Jazz was in charge of the Infiltration units in the SpecOps command. Prime had expected explosions once again, privately warning the commanding officers of the Enforcers and SpecOps that the two mechs had a troubled history together.

Their first joint mission was a recovery operation, the Infiltrators having set up a system of dead drop recordings and sensor nets in the dead zones around Iacon where Decepticon forces liked to hide. The Infiltrators were heading out to recover them, aided by the Enforcers. Jazz was leading the recovery team; Prowl was leading his battery for the mission.

Jazz had apparently presented a well thought out and thoroughly researched plan of ingress and egress, but was fuzzy on the details of retrieving the devices. He reasoned he didn't know what sort of condition they would be in, or what he would need his teams to do to recover the information. Prowl had interjected with an instantly improvised plan, rationalizing that in the lack of the Infiltrators solid plans for the extraction, his batteries would provide covering support to both the operating team, and an advance team that would move ahead to the next site. He reasoned he could cut the mission in half that way, doubling their results, halving their resources, and lessening the time all the mechs were outside the heavy defenses of Iacon, unprotected. Jazz accepted the intrusion and deviation from his own plan with barely a simple nod.

Their first mission together was a complete success. Though they often worked with other sections predominantly and had separate missions, Prime would occasionally find the two of them holed up in a corner of the base, each trying to poke holes in the other's mission plan and brief. Somehow along the line, the two of them had managed to find a common, respectable ground for each other's strengths and talents. Jazz was no longer so arrogant, though still quite an attention hound. He was pleasant though, friendly and accepting of everyone, eager to draw the 'bots together, where as in his younger years, he had been one to insist on the spotlight. Prowl was a better improvisational planner, though not anywhere near where Jazz was. He was at least able to allow flexibility into his plans, and built new subroutines into his battle computer to allow for multiple computations of "what ifs." They had both grown, accepting different processes into their operating systems.

When they made the difficult decision to man the Ark, Prime never doubted for a moment that he would be bringing both Prowl and Jazz. Blacklight declined the position as head of Prime's Ark SpecOps group, preferring to stay on Cybertron until the bitter end. Jazz was the next mech Prime wanted, his massive and successful field experience, combined with his exceptional working abilities with Prowl, instantly fitting him for the job. He accepted readily.

With Prowl, Prime had attempted to logically explain his needs and reasoning behind asking Prowl to join him on the Ark, rather than stay on Cybertron with the remaining defenses. Prowl's immense talents would greatly increase the odds of success for their original search mission, but the counter argument could be easily made too. Prowl's immense talents could also aid the defenses on Cybertron as well. The deciding factor had been that Prime merely wanted Prowl there with him. He had come to depend on Prowl's guidance, his support, and his steely convictions. Prowl had listened calmly, intently, to every word Prime had said, then simply replied, "Whatever you need, Optimus." Prowl was the second in command that very moment.

It was later that Prime found Jazz and Prowl discussing the Ark mission, both privately wondering just what they'd find out there. Their vocalizers were both filled with wonder and trepidation, and Prime had stopped eavesdropping, wondering when these two had become such fast friends.

Preparing for the Ark mission only confirmed it, Jazz and Prowl working tirelessly together to integrate the crew, supplies, mission specs and defenses into one seamless machine. Jazz was still Jazz, improvising and manufacturing his own success, but Prowl seemed to expect that, allowed it, even figured it into his plans. After vorns of Jazz's behavior, Prime supposed even Prowl's logic circuits became familiar with the input and output behaviors of Jazz. Input: sly smile, output: Jazz was up to something.

Prime never knew when Jazz had fallen for Prowl though. He suspected Jazz's feelings for the Enforcer just before the launch of the Ark, but that thought was the least of the worries on his processor. He didn't think on it again until they were on Earth, reanimated and discovering their new world. Prowl was right back into the thick of action, never missing a beat despite the shock they had all taken at the news of their 4 million year stasis. Jazz played morale officer to the crew, doing his utmost to keep them cheerful and optimistic about their new home, their lives, and their continued mission. Prowl turned blind optics to some of Jazz's more unorthodox means, including the video game system, televisions, homebrew highgrade, and various crew parties that were occasionally thrown. Both officers were Prime's right and left hands, helping to hold him up.

After having known Jazz for so long, Prime became aware of his personality quirks. Jazz would occasionally work himself into a tightly coiled knot, nearly imperceptible on the outside, but destructive to his cheerful spirit. Jazz would become quieter, not voluntarily engaging with the other mechs, having to be drawn out of his armor for interaction. The Ark was usually so boisterous and animated that Jazz was able to slip through unnoticed when he was in one of his moods. He spent a few night cycles away from the others, in his quarters, or often in Prowl's office, the two of them relaxing and talking, playing a strategy game, or catching up on recent intelligence analysis they both enjoyed debating over.

Prowl's moods were harder to catch, as he was reclusive by programming. He wasn't antisocial, didn't avoid the personal interactions of the crew and his friends; it was just that he didn't have a need within his programming for additional interactions. Prowl was Prowl, and his programming was complete with his function. Not that he didn't feel; Prowl clearly did, and strongly towards the mechs and causes he labeled as critical to him. Bluestreak, for one, was a 'bot he was practically a brother to. The Autobot cause wasn't merely a political faction to Prowl. It was the core essence of his being, and what he lived his life by. Prowl simply ordered things differently in his processor, his logic circuits and battle computer driving his spark wholly and entirely. He never allowed himself to drop the tactician, drop the officer, preferring to keep his spark, and the emotions within it, contained and ordered. Prime didn't know if that was by design or by choice. However, it just didn't cross Prowl's processor to seek out another. His oblivion at Jazz's feelings towards him was absolute.

Granted, it took Prime a Primusly long time to discern Jazz's feelings towards Prowl. Prime had best figured though that Jazz was comfortably content being Prowl's best and closest friend as he had never made a move to try to change their interactions. They were soldiers, officers, friends; each complimented the other's command and battle style, they assisted each other's duties, they relaxed together. Each offered the other a small piece of themselves to complete the other's personality and their own processors.

Prime needed them. He needed them both, but more importantly, he needed them both together. Individually they were dynamic; together, they were Prime's best resource and his closest advisors. They were the two sides to his processor, reflecting the inner nature of his very own spark. Prime needed them.

Now though, they balanced on the edge of something unspeakable, unknowable: a life without Prowl.

* * *

First Aid wasn't surprised to see Jazz with Prime when he summoned their leader to the medbay. At Jazz's tight-lipped denta though he supposed he should have wiped more of Prowl's spilled energon off.

"Prime, we need energon donors," First Aid began without preamble, too tired but wound up on his boosted high-grade to quit. "We've stopped the electrical surges, but his systems are running at super fast speeds. It's unnatural, and it's burning through the fluids we're putting into him. We can't even stop the bleeding. The pressures on the lines are causing them to rupture all over his system."

Prime was unnaturally still, face hidden behind his battle mask. Jazz's visor was pulsing, blue light shining overbright, nearly white. "How much energon do you need?"

First Aid sighed. "We need at least half the mechs to donate. We're running out of medical grade energon. Ratchet wants to empty him, then force a dry shock through his spark." At this, Jazz's denta dropped open, startled static escaping his vocalizer. "It's the only thing we have left to do. We've got to bring his systems down from the speeds they're running at."

Ratchet's voice suddenly thundered out of the back surgical suite. "Fraggit! First Aid!"

First Aid started, then turned and ran back to assist Ratchet. Jazz, following him without thinking, stopped in the doorway of the surgical room that Prowl was being treated in. He heard Prime somewhere far away as his CPU ground to a halt, circuits flashing and sparking inside his helm.

Prowl lay strapped down on the berth, armored chest plates wide open. He was arcing off the berth in full body seizures, as much as the restraints would allow him. Parts of his internal wires were hanging out, shredded beyond recognition, more clips on his lines then Jazz knew were even on the base. Lines of energon, coolant and oil were descending into his chest cavity, taping directly into the main lines of his tanks and pumps, bypassing the usual veins and arteries entirely. Prowl's internal systems whirred and whined at their furiously high speeds, smoke from the too-dry gears grinding together gathering at the ceiling. Fluids covered the floor, Wheeljack and Ratchet slipping in the mixture as they tried to bodily force Prowl back down flat onto the berth.

"Cut the lines! Now! We've got to shock him!" Ratchet hollered at First Aid, who quickly began the sensitive removal of the catheters in his chest. "Just rip 'em out! Air in his lines is the least of our worries!" First Aid stopped, turning to the drip bags above the berth, ripping the spikes from each bag of fluid. Jazz must have groaned, must have squeaked, his vocalizer must have somehow indicated he was there. Ratchet whipped his helm directly to Jazz, fury in his optics. "Jazz! Get the frag out! Now!"

Prime had come up behind Jazz and saw the chaos around Prowl in the surgical suite before he heard Ratchet's bellow at Jazz. He put his hand on Jazz's shoulder, bodily pulling the Saboteur out of the room and back to the main medbay. Jazz seemed dazed, following Prime without resistance.

Sunstreaker was nowhere to be seen. Hoist was putting spare transfer cords into a crate of empty fluid bags and sterile spikes. "I'll be doing the energon transfers," Hoist said, hefting the crate. "Alright for me to set up in the Rec Room? Thought that'd be a good place to spread the word."

Prime nodded. "I will make an announcement as well." He turned to Jazz. "Jazz, I'd like you to help Hoist. Your presence will greatly assist with this." Prime also hoped that Jazz would be able to focus, especially if he was working on something tangible to help Prowl. Jazz was better as a busy mech, better able to focus, better able to cope. Inaction, indecision, unknowing, were his undoing.

Jazz nodded, following Hoist out of the medbay without protest. Prime watched them head down the hallway towards the Rec Room, then turned and went back towards the command deck. His thoughts were lost in his CPU however, stuck somewhere in the past between that surgical suite and a firebase outside of Polyhex.

* * *

Prime's announcement had mechs flooding to the Rec Room. Jazz helped Hoist set up two stations of energon transfers, then began pulling willing mechs over to him for their donation. The rest of the waiting mechs sat around the Rec Room, nervously chatting about their 2IC.

When Sideswipe came in, now treeless, the entire tone of the Rec Room changed. The waiting mechs seized on the twin's humiliation, using it to transfer their fears on the situation into teasing humor. Sideswipe was unamused. He protested, loudly, against their jokes and teasing comments on his flying and landing abilities.

Jazz was fuming. He wasn't talkative, preferring to quietly assist Hoist with the transfer donations rather than engage in the verbal "what if's" of the rest of the assembled mechs. The sight of Prowl had unbalanced him. It still swam in his optics, seeing Prowl restrained to the berth and arching against his damaged, whirling systems. He could still smell the burning fluids, acrid and tangy in his sensors. The image of Ratchet and Wheeljack slipping on Prowl's fluids played in a never-ending loop in his processor, refusing to leave his circuits. When Sideswipe came in, missing his tree and his entire window, freshly washed, Jazz had futilely tried to ignore the now-teasing and joking conversations. He knew the rest of the mechs were just trying to take their processors off of the situation, but Jazz couldn't stop the anger rising within him.

When Sideswipe uttered a rather bitter and vehement protest that he had been left alone to suffer after single-handedly taking on Thundercracker and destroying his internals, Jazz couldn't hold it any longer.

"Seems like ya should know all about bein' left alone, Sides." Jazz's voice was low, smooth. He never raised his vocalizer's tone. "Ya certainly knew how t' leave Prowl alone."

Dead silence settled over the Rec Room. Sideswipe's mouthplates dropped open, shocked. Hoist, who had been attempting to fit the transfer spike into Bluestreak's arm, slipped, missing the line and jabbing the sensitive internal armor.

"Wha… What!" Sideswipe managed to finally, eloquently sputter.

"Didja' two even think about leavin' Prowl alone before ya jumped on the Seekers? Or were ya so blinded by yer need for battle that ya just left him? Alone?" His last word was mocking Sideswipe's own complaint of being left alone.

Gears, of all the mechs, was trying to keep the peace, trying to come to Sideswipe's defense. "Jazz, I'm sure that wasn't the case-"

He was cut off, Jazz's voice still maddeningly calm. "No, I wan' t' hear it from Sides." He walked over to the seated mech, alone at one of the tables near the back wall. "He's dieing," Jazz said, vocalizer finally choking, catching on the word. "He took a shot o' somethin' to the chest. Screamer was right on top o' him." Jazz had listened to the entire exchange of Ratchet and Wheeljack over the battle net during Skyfire's shuttle trip back to the Ark. His spark had clenched painfully in his chest with each cold, clinical word exchanged between the medics. Energon depletion, electrical overload, systems wide shut down… Jazz's spark had tried to claw out his chest, escape through his throat. He hadn't been able to relax at all, the incident in the medbay only increasing his taught and tense fear. "We don' leave 'bots alone, not in battle, and ya did. And now, he's-" Jazz's vocalizer shorted out.

Jazz stopped, having slowly stalked forward right in front of Sideswipe's shocked and silent form. He looked down at the still seated mech, visor white with rage. Sideswipe finally snapped his denta shut, glaring at Jazz, fuming now himself.

With a snarl, Sideswipe lunged out of his seat, grabbing Jazz by the shoulder and bodily slamming into him into the bulkhead. Jazz reacted instantly, the frontliner's size and mass no match for the highly trained sparring of the Saboteur. He struck out with his elbow, catching Sideswipe in the jaw and sending the frontliner back a few steps.

It only made Sideswipe more angry. He lunged at Jazz again, but Jazz sidestepped, grabbing Sideswipe's shoulderjoint and pivoting him around, slamming him back against the bulkhead. Jazz pressed his forearm into Sideswipe's neck cables, leaning into the sensitive gears.

The Rec Room was a buzz of activity, shocked at Jazz's words and accusations. They were unsurprised at Sideswipe's reaction, the twins having thrown punches before and fought physically against each other and occasionally with other mechs onboard the Ark. They had never, ever fought with Jazz though. No one had ever fought with Jazz. Mechs swarmed the two against the bulkhead, trying to talk reason and sense into their overheated processors. Bumblebee toggled the comm, alerting the Command Deck, where Red Alert was already well aware of the situation.

No one saw Sunstreaker enter the room, but they quickly became aware of his presence as he plowed through the assembled mechs, heading straight for Jazz. He grabbed the Saboteur's shoulder, bodily pulling him off of his brother and throwing him to the ground. Sideswipe made to follow after Jazz, tackle him further into the floor, but Sunstreaker stopped his movements.

Jazz glared up at Sunstreaker, expecting the golden twin to lunge at him and attack. He saw the mechs that had been in the Rec Room gathered around the edges, watching nervously.

Sunstreaker stepped to Jazz's side, looming over the black and white mech still on the ground. "Say it again," he growled out. "Say it again. To me." Sunstreaker still had a pressure band around his upper arm, tight around his injured line from the field transfer Skydive had messily performed.

Jazz didn't hesitate, spitting back out at the Lambo. "Ya' left him."

Sunstreaker didn't hesitate either, reaching down and grabbing the smaller mech's front frame by his bumper. He pivoted, bringing Jazz down hard onto the table that Sideswipe had just been sitting at. Sunstreaker brought his face down low, directly into Jazz's own, banging the Saboteur's helm back down into the table beneath him. "He knew what we would do. We spoke, on patrol. About tactics. He knew what we would do." Sunstreaker's voice was low, barely contained, vibrating with rage.

"What is going on here?" Prime's voice bellowed across the Rec Room.

The rest of the mechs guiltily jumped, backing away from the scene in front of them. Sideswipe, who had been grabbed by Hound and Mirage after his brother let go of him, physically wrenched free of their grip. He wheeled on Mirage, ready to strike.

"Sideswipe!" Prime hollered again, staying his punch but not removing the murderous set of his face plates as Sideswipe slowly turned to Prime's figure in the Rec Room doorway.

Sunstreaker still had Jazz pinned to the table, helms still bashed together. Jazz was searching his optics, the energy of the fight managing to drain and dissipate some of the choking fear and worry that had consumed him. He lay back, panting. Sunstreaker still loomed over him, shaking with white-hot rage.

"That's enough!" Ironhide pushed over to Sunstreaker, having arrived with Prime and physically pushed Sunstreaker off of Jazz. Jazz remained laying back on the table, not attempting to rise. Sunstreaker glared, then moved to stand next to his furious brother.

"This is not what we need to be doing right now." Prime was enraged. Emotions were running high on the Ark and he had hoped that Jazz would be able to keep a calm lid on the situation. He never expected that Sideswipe's teasing would get under his armor so entirely. Then again, Jazz had never before faced Prowl's near-certain death either, nor actually seen his friend so badly damaged with his own optics as he had back in the surgical suite.

"This is senseless. One of our own is injured, badly, and this is how you are acting?" Prime moved into the Rec Room, scowling around at the assembled mechs. He moved to Jazz, hauling him up, only a little gently, from the tabletop. "We are all in this together. Just as you all are here now donating your energon, we are comrades for each other in battle as well. I've never doubted that. Never." He stared down into Jazz's visor, though he was addressing the rest of the mechs as well. "I expect better from this family."

Once again, silence filled the Rec Room, though this time it was tinged with shame.

"Hoist, do you have the energon you need?" Prime turned to the nurse, still attempting a draw on Bluestreak.

"I need a few more bags, sir." Hoist was quiet.

"Those of you who still wish to donate, remain. The rest of you-"

Prime was cut off by an open comm transmission from Ratchet. "Prime, it's Ratchet." The CMO sounded exhausted, as if his very spark were drained of energy. He sounded weary, every vorn his age. He sounded two steps from the edge.

Ratchet didn't wait for Prime's response, continuing on, knowing he had an open comm line and completely oblivious to the actions in the Rec Room. "It's Prowl. We've managed to stabilize his spark and his systems. We've got a lot of repair work to do… but he's going to make it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 4

* * *

It took a full orn of uninterrupted work for Ratchet, Wheeljack, First Aid and Hoist to repair Prowl. Most of his internal energon lines had blown out under the forceful pressures of his superheated systems cycling at their ridiculous high speeds. Wheeljack had to manually extract and recreate the capillary lines throughout his body, nearly half of them having been utterly destroyed. Hoist repaired and rebuilt the damage to Prowl's frame and helm while Ratchet and First Aid began the sensitive and delicate process of repairing his neural circuitry and processor.

The electrical surges had trashed Prowl's internal systems. Circuits had blown, fused and melted in nearly every major system. The damage was extensive, all consuming. Each circuit had to be removed, repaired individually and then reinserted. Prowl was kept in deep stasis through it all, artificial ventilations and energon pumped manually into him via life support devices next to his berth.

Ratchet had no idea if Prowl would still be there when they onlined him. With the extent of the damage, he was privately concerned that not only his data banks but the circuit transfers, the input/output processes and the timing and speed of the data accesses and behavior patterns would be irrevocably altered. There was an indefinable and unknowable process that occurred in each mech as the quantum processes that defined and gave rise to their behavior, emotion and sensory input crossed each of their circuitry pathways. Each of them had the same basic platforms, modified and designed for their functions and performance. At the core of each of them however, their base operating systems and circuitry were the same. It was the unknowable reactions of their individual circuits, processors and flashes of data across their neural nets that gave rise to the individual nuances between each mech. Their personality, their behaviors, the very outgrowth of who they were was based upon the individually different reactions each of them had to the stimulants and actions of their lives. Their processors were shaped by their lives.

And what would happen to their personalities, when the processes that had built such were altered, even slightly? What if he couldn't recreate the same exact processes, couldn't enable the mech's self repairs to adjust his slight deviations? What would happen if the Prowl they had known for so long wasn't able to be the same Prowl? If his quantum process was destroyed, damaged, changed? Who would online then? Who would he be? Who would he become?

Ratchet privately fretted over this but refused to share his concerns with First Aid, his partner during this delicate process of rebuilding Prowl's internal circuitry. Instead, he displayed his concern through ever increasingly vicious snapping, hovering and demands for perfection from First Aid and himself.

First Aid knew though, and shared the same fears. He was terrified, terrified at the responsibility he and Ratchet had in their hands. It wasn't about the Ark, the Autobots, their mission, or even the concerned mechs, their friends, waiting eagerly for more information about Prowl. It was his responsibility to Prowl himself; his responsibility to give him back his life, wholly and completely. It was the oath he had onlined with as a medic, as a life-saver – to protect, preserve and save life, all life, to the best of his abilities.

He just hoped his abilities were up to the task.

The relief around the Ark was absolute. The announcement, though poorly timed, had instantly cut through the tension in the Rec Room, and many of the mechs had let out loud whoops of glee and relieved happiness. The minibots had literally jumped for joy, and Bumblebee had collapsed against Trailbreaker, weak with worry and relief.

Sunstreaker had merely stood there, still, next to the table where he had slammed Jazz down and awkwardly to the side of Prime. His hands clenched repeatedly and though he had heard the conviction in Prime's voice regarding his faith in his mechs, Sunstreaker still took Jazz's accusations hard to spark. Sunstreaker knew he wasn't a popular mech, knew he wasn't well liked on the Ark. Normally that didn't bother him, as he had joined the Autobots not for the mechs, but for the cause, which burned surprisingly strongly in his frame. He shared Prowl's conviction for their ideals. Indeed, Sunstreaker was the ultimate living example of Autobot values; he lived, entirely free, entirely of his own choosing in the Autobots instead of forced to exist in a slave or service role due to his size, strength and abilities. It was a tendril of unspoken commonality that had existed between the two, tactician and frontliner, and one that Sunstreaker respected.

Being accused of leaving Prowl to suffer at the hands of Starscream had enraged the golden twin, hearing everything Jazz had said through Sideswipe's bond, left open from shock at hearing his 3IC's words. Worse, it had left a bitter taste in his mouth, his processor racing again and again through the battle. Had he? Had they? Was Prowl injured because of their actions? Or inaction?

He had grabbed his twin then, leaving the Rec Room and its relieved cheering. Jazz looked no better, slumping forward as if his back struts had given out entirely, Prime's hand supporting his shoulder. His helm was rocked back, visor dim.

The mechs stayed in the Rec Room for countless breems, happily chatting away in relief, reliving many of the more humorous and heroic actions of their 2IC. Hoist suddenly had double the number of volunteers, some mechs offering to donate twice. Cliffjumper pushed and beat his way to the front for his second offering, then promptly passed out from energon depletion halfway through the donation, much to the amusement of all the 'bots. He woke to Hound and Bluestreak's grinning faces, waving a warm cube of energon in his face.

Prime left shortly after, leaving Ironhide to keep a watchful eye on the room, and took Jazz with him. They stayed locked in Prime's office on the Command Deck for the rest of the cycle.

Life cycled forward on the Ark, resuming its normal pace after their gear-seizing worry earlier, though not without a tense and pensive undercurrent. Jazz had left Prime's office and disappeared for the evening, driving off into the dusky desert night until the morning cycle. When he returned, he disappeared into his office, now responsible for maintaining his and Prowl's duties as acting 2IC until Prowl was up and functioning again.

Patrols and comms duty continued as scheduled, though the Decepticons were blissfully silent. The Seeker's made no reappearance, and Decepticon activity in their patrol zones was non-existent.

Prime remained locked in his office most cycles though, a series of alpha band communiqués from the Pentagon making their way back and forth across the comm boards. Jazz would emerge from Prime's office with a small stack of data pads clutched in his hands, then make his way back to his own office, locking the door. He didn't spend much time in the Rec Room, aside from quickly grabbing his energon rations in the morning and evening cycles. He never stayed to chat.

Most of the other mechs assumed he was shockingly busy, what with taking over the 2IC duties in addition to his own. They didn't speak openly about their other concerns, instead privately whispering when they hoped none would over hear – what would happen when Jazz and the twins ran into each other again?

The twins had volunteered for extended patrol the very next morning, missing Jazz's return to the Ark with their own departure by breems. They were sweeping the entire perimeter of the patrol zone, a shockingly huge 500 mile swath of land over rugged terrain. It was treacherous, dull, and lonely.

To Hound's great displeasure, Mirage was sent out on an extended SpecOps mission as well. As always, Mirage couldn't reveal where he was going or what he was doing, but assured Hound that he would be quite safe. Hound only relaxed marginally; Mirage's definition of safe differed greatly from his own. Hound had had to learn Mirage's linguistical nuances. "Safe" meant a great deal more danger than "quite safe," though both generally meant he was still in close or within the proximity of the Decepticons. Mirage had chuckled, warmed by the overt care and concern of his lover.

The mechs occasionally tried to visit the medbay for updates on their 2IC but never made it very far. Ratchet would descend upon them in a whirling mass of curses and swinging tools, demanding they cease interrupting his delicate and sensitive work. To most of the mechs, what repairs Prowl needed were a mystery but they deduced the serious extent of his injuries from Ratchet's ever-increasing temper, Wheeljack's exhaustion, though the mechanic was still chipper as ever, and Jazz's continued isolation.

The day the twins came back from their extended patrol, heinously filthy and with nothing to report, was the same day that Wheeljack plopped onto the couch in the Rec Room, a tired, happy chirp and flash to his vocal indicators as he blurted out to the assorted mechs that Prowl was off of artificial life support functions and well on the way to onlining soon. The mechs had cheered again, clapping Wheeljack on his shoulder struts good-humouredly and congratulating all his and Ratchet's hard work. Wheeljack flashed happily through it all, though teasingly warned them all that their misbehavior would have to cease once Prowl was up and online again. Whether it was the absence of the twins, the absence of Prowl, or just the tense atmosphere of the Ark, the mechs behaviors had been at an all time high. Not even Red Alert had found something to complain about.

The only surprise Ratchet felt, when he finally saw Jazz sitting next to Prowl's berth in the middle of the night cycle, was why it had taken the Saboteur so long to get there. "I wondered when you'd show up." His voice was ever-grumpy, tired.

Jazz didn't move, never shifted his optics from Prowl's form on the berth. Prowl was now fully contained within his armor, needing no additional fluids or vents. All that remained was a sedative drip, keeping Prowl in medical stasis indefinitely as Ratchet and First Aid finished rewiring the last of the neural circuitry to Prowl's extremities. "I couldn' see him like that."

"Like what?"

"All hooked up." Jazz gestured listlessly through the air, black hand loosely encompassing the berth, sedative drip and machines seated nearby.

Ratchet struggled to understand. To him, medical mechanical care was a necessary function, a part of life. The medical tools and instruments of such were as much a part of Ratchet as his own hands were. He was well aware that some mechs were uneasy around all the medical mechanical equipment, some even afraid of it, but he had always brushed that off as a fear of the unknown. Jazz had been in the medbay many times though. He was one of the more aggressive mechs in battle, seizing upon any opportunity that presented itself, despite his not being a frontliner. He also was ultimately dedicated to his function, nearly giving his spark during one infiltration during the final days of Iacon in Cyberton. He had been dragged back, deleted of energon and badly damaged. His injuries weren't life threatening, but his severe energon shock was. Jazz had stayed in medbay for several cycles, whining about it as soon as he was online.

Jazz had no ignorance of the tools of Ratchet's function. Ratchet had never thought consciously about it, but he had assumed that most mechs, especially ones like Jazz, shared his view that his technical equipment was a life saving extension, and that seeing those instruments would be a comforting, calming measure. With them, the patient had a chance to function, had a chance to online. Without them…

"He's going to online soon. Within the next cycle, after First Aid and I finish his peripheral circuitry." Ratchet pushed his meandering thoughts aside.

Jazz nodded, slowly leaning forward until his forearms were braced on his knee joints, hands clasped underneath his chinplate, helm level with the berth. His visor and Prowl's instruments were the only light in Prowl's privately cordoned off section of the medbay.

"The twins are back." Ratchet smirked, watching for any change in Jazz. "I heard about that mess in the Rec Room last orn. That was pretty stupid."

Jazz finally looked up at the medic, sitting back in his chair again. "I know," he said quietly. "I wasn't thinkin' too well." He shook his helm, dejectedly. "How'r they? Extended patrol wasn' too rough on 'em?"

Ratchet shook his head. "No, nothing damaged. Both of them brought back enough mud and leaves to build a new volcano though."

Jazz smirked. "Bet Sunny loved that."

"He didn't say much, actually." Ratchet leaned against the doorframe, studying Jazz. He initiated a low-level sensor sweep as he finally noticed the scuffed and slightly dented armor, chipped paint near the bumper, and dirt stuck in his wheel wells. Jazz had never been as fastidious as Sunstreaker, but he did maintain his image to clean, polished, officer standards. He looked more like Hound at the moment, comfortable with his dirt and dents.

"Whatcha' doin, Ratch?" Jazz felt the sensor sweep tingle over his frame.

Ratchet was willing to be that Jazz wasn't aware of his own image. The low levels of energon and recharge flashed in Ratchet's HUD as the sensor reading came in. "You're not recharging. And you're not getting enough energon." He frowned at Jazz. "Do you even see the dents on your frame?"

Jazz looked down, smoothing his hand over his bumper. "A've been busy," he began, sighing. "There's a lot goin' on right now, and with Prowl down…" he trailed off.

"Go back to your quarters. Get some recharge. Drink a full two cubes of energon when you online. That's an order." Ratchet managed to make the order come out softer than his usual gruff tone, genuinely concerned about Jazz's well-being. "I will comm you when he's coming online," he added even softer.

Jazz smiled tiredly at Ratchet. "Thanks." He stood, stretching his tired joints before looking back down at Prowl's still form on the berth. His optics traced the joints and panels of Prowl's helm and face, lingering on his cheekarches, his dark optics, his lip plates. Jazz moved his black hand towards Prowl's white one, lightly stroking the tip of the Enforcer's index fingertip, before standing stiffly and walking away without a backwards glance.

Ratchet watched him leave silently. Just as Prime had, he had figured out Jazz's feelings for Prowl some time before. He had the added benefit of seeing the two of them reacting to each others injuries, minor to severe, and seeing their teasing banter, worried overwatch, and the pained countenances whenever the other was in the medbay. Jazz's concern had shifted over time, leading Ratchet down his old circuit paths to the inevitable conclusion of Jazz's growing feelings for Prowl. Jazz had never spoken about it, not to anyone, and Ratchet had never brought it up.

Doctor-patient confidentiality extended beyond the berth.

* * *

Prowl onlined two cycles later, five pairs of worried optics floating in his vision.

The entire medical team, Ratchet, Hoist, First Aid and Wheeljack were there along with Prime. Ratchet and Hoist were buffering either side of Prowl's berth next to his helm, checking the med panels and watching his vital systems readings as Prowl slowly onlined. Wheeljack and First Aid were near his feet, watching the circuitry readouts as his processor resumed its normal firing speed and rhythm. Prime hovered behind Ratchet, eager to see his 2IC healthy but trying to stay well out of the way.

"How do you feel?" Ratchet asked gruffly, red hand on Prowl's shoulderjoint.

Prowl's optics blearily shifted up to Ratchet's, unfocused and flickering. Ratchet had one brief moment to send a silent and quick prayer to Primus for his and First Aid's work to have been sufficient, to have been good enough to bring their friend back whole.

"…Ratchet?" Prowl's vocalizer was heavy with static, gears grinding from lack of use.

Wheeljack's optics flashed brightly, relieved, and First Aid felt his back struts weaken. They shared a brief, happy glance, looking back to see Ratchet with a small, tiny smile on his faceplates. "Welcome back, Prowl."

After several breems of continued monitoring and near-endless questions directed towards Prowl, Ratchet moved off to the side and allowed Prime a chance to speak to his 2IC. Prime looked down to his friend, retracting his battle mask to smile a genuine, relieved smile, unencumbered by the mask. "I'm very glad to see you online, Prowl."

Prowl swallowed, gears in his throat tightening as he smiled tightly. He wasn't used to this much show of emotion from Prime, from his leader. "I apologize for missing my duties, sir."

Prime chuckled, smiling wider. He gently laid one of his large hands on Prowl's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Rest now, Prowl. We've all been very worried about you." He squeezed Prowl's shoulderjoint one last time, then stood, smiling still as he reactivated his battle mask. He turned to Ratchet and Hoist, conferring with Wheeljack and First Aid over the sensor readouts from Prowl's processor and circuitry readings. "I will be on the Command Deck if you need me."

Ratchet nodded, coming back to Prowl's side as Prime moved off with a parting glance to Prowl. Prowl nodded his thanks to Prime, touched at his leader's actions. The sedatives were still slowing his processor, making his thoughts and reactions more sluggish than normal. His optics dimmed, ready to fall back into recharge.

"Ah, ah!" Ratchet flicked his arm with a brief rap of his red knuckles. "You've got one more visitor before you can recharge." Ratchet moved to the side, letting Prowl see Jazz leaning up against the wall with his heel propped against the bulkhead, helm tilted to the side and a sly smile spread across his faceplates. "Hey Prowler!"

"Jazz…" Prowl smiled, seeing his friend walk to the side of his berth. Jazz's armor was shining, dent free, paint sparkling in the harsh medbay lights.

"Ya gave us quite a scare there, Prowler. Got our gears all grindin' up." Jazz stopped at the edge of the berth, hands lightly touching the edge next to Prowl's white fingers. He smiled down at Prowl's supine form.

"You're just upset at the extra work," Prowl teased, falling back into the old rhythms of his hundred-vorns long friendship with Jazz.

"Ya got that right! Primus, ya do too much work! It's enough to make a 'bot's processor go unstable."

"That's what I try to tell you when you insist on interrupting me." Prowl's optics started flickering, his recharge functions forcing their initiations against his over exhausted processor.

Jazz caught it immediately. "Get some rest, Prowler. I'll be back t' bug ya soon."

Prowl smirked. "That must be your mission. You're a Decepticon spy sent to harass me to offlining."

Jazz reached out, gently, briefly squeezing Prowl's hand. "Nah, that's just what makes me loveable." He smiled down at Prowl, visor flashing as he felt Prowl's hand squeeze his back before letting go.

Prowl chuckled, optics falling offline. "I'll be out of here soon to relieve you of your burdensome workload." His vocalizer started to fade.

"Ya just rest up. You'll stay here 'till Ratch says yer good to go." Jazz looked down at Prowl, who had slipped into recharge in the middle of his sentence. Jazz sighed, heavily, staring at Prowl's features.

Ratchet came up to the other side of the berth. "I'll never understand your friendship," he said, shaking his head and checking the sedative drip.

Jazz smiled at Ratchet. "I jus' keep tellin' him: he needs a lil' crazy in his processor."

Ratchet shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. "Actually, that's the very last thing he needs. You," he said, pointing at Jazz, "are a terrible influence. Now scram. We've got work to do. You can come back later." Ratchet began to shoo Jazz away from the berth, the first step in his long held tradition of throwing mechs out of the medbay.

Jazz laughed quietly, scooting out of the CMO's shooing distance. "I'm goin', I'm goin!" He paused at the medbay door, casting one last glance back at Prowl and the med team, still analyzing and discussing Prowl's circuitry readouts before heading out the door.

* * *

To the entire med team's great pleasure, Prowl's circuitry feedback tests went without a hitch.

They spent joors shocking each circuit line, jolting the individual circuits, pathways and nodes to ensure functionality throughout his frame and neural net. Wheeljack and Ratchet were especially pleased with their work, consulting and happily commenting on the intricacies of Prowl's systems. Prowl, for his part, was less enthused, stuck flat on his back and helpless as they shocked his various lines of circuits. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't the most pleasant experience either. He also had to be awake for it.

"Have you concluded your tests yet, Ratchet?" Prowl loudly interrupted Wheeljack's new exclamations over his experimental piece of equipment that had helped isolate and open Prowl's capillary lines. Prowl was entirely certain he did not want to know these details.

"We've got a few more to go, Prowl. Just lay back and relax."

"It is difficult to relax during such a boisterous and detailed anatomy lesson." Prowl saw Wheeljack's vocal fins flash momentarily, unsure if it was in humor or embarrassment.

Ratchet came back alongside Prowl's berth, tapping at his data pad. "Yes, well, we need to be certain that your systems are all optimal."

"And I am very glad for your endeavors, Ratchet. However, may you please wait to discuss the details of my internals until I am recharging?"

Ratchet smirked. "Prowl, I never took you for the squeamish sort."

Prowl bristled. "I am not squeamish. I am quite certain though that my processor will not be able to handle the statistical computations required to determine if I am a ticking time bomb of Wheeljack's at the moment. I believe the humans say, 'ignorance is bliss.'"

Ratchet's smirk turned into an all out smile. "It's good to have you back, Prowl." Then he zapped the Enforcer again, sending a wave of electrical current down his arms and across his neural net.

* * *

When Jazz heard Ratchet had thrown Prowl of the medbay and confined him to his quarters on medical orders, he could only smirk. Prowl was notoriously difficult in the medbay, possibly the only mech to rival the twins antics. Ratchet only took so much whining before he determined that if you were healthy enough to whine, then you were healthy enough to be on your own. Often, that meant confined to quarters, but for a mech like Prowl that was a blissful retreat from the medbay. To the twins, it was a punishment, and they eternally hovered over that hairy boundary of Ratchet's temper.

Jazz clicked off his computer access terminal to Teletraan 1, downloading the data to his pad. Whistling tunelessly, he stepped out his office door and headed for Prowl's quarters.

When he arrived, cheekily tapping out a musical rhythm on the door with his knuckles in counterpart to his whistling, Prowl opened his door immediately, glaring familiarly at Jazz in the corridor. Jazz had never been so happy to see Prowl glower at him on two feet. "Heya Prowler!" Jazz relaxed against the door frame, leaning his shoulderjoint into the doorslide.

"Ah, I see Ratchet is determined to punish me even outside the medbay," Prowl deadpanned, though his words would have been better delivered without the small smirk at the corner of his lip plates.

"Ya were kicked out pretty quickly this time," Jazz said smiling.

Prowl turned from the doorway, walking back to the small desk in his quarters. He met Jazz's optics as he sat. "I learned my whining from the best mech in the field."

"Ya wound me, Prowler! Ya really do!" Jazz came full into the Enforcer's quarters, walking over to the only other place to sit in the small, austere room. He perched on the edge of the berth, across from Prowl's seat in his desk chair. "Hoist did a good job with yer paint." Prowl had been repainted during his time in the medbay, his black and white fresh and clean on his frame.

Prowl rubbed at the front bumper. "Indeed. I no longer look like a walking scorch mark." Jazz grinned, though there was less warmth to the grin than his previous smiles. Jazz still couldn't shake the images from his processor, images of Prowl shaking and convulsing, bleeding out on the surgical table, moments from death.

"Don't you have duties you need to be doing? I hear the 2IC's job is a real workhorse. It would not be good to shirk those responsibilities." Prowl lightly teased his friend.

"I'm actually here on official business, Prowler, much as I enjoy yer digs at my duties an' responsibilities." Jazz put on a short air at being offended by Prowl's insinuation that he was irresponsible. In reality, they both knew that Jazz had not merely covered Prowl's duties adequately, but had driven himself to perform to the exacting standards as Prowl maintained. It was a measure of Jazz's respect for Prowl that he replicated his work style when needs dictated covering his duties.

Prowl merely raised an optic ridge at Jazz's display. "I am on medical restriction at the moment. Ratchet will surely not allow me to do anything as strenuous as paperwork."

Jazz pulled the data pad from his subspace. "It'll be our lil' secret." He winked at Prowl, waving the pad conspiratorially. Prowl's optic ridge remained arched, intrigued.

"We have a teleconference with the Pentagon in two cycles. Prime's been in contact with 'em while you've been lazing in the medbay. Seems they think there's been 'Con activity near some 'o their military bases and zones around the world."

Prowl leaned forward, intrigued. "Does this have anything to do with the attack on our patrol?"

"Nah, we don' think so. They've been quiet 'round here. Haven't seen the Seekers in a while." Jazz continued on. "I sent Mirage out on a lil' fact findin' mission an orn ago. He's jus' back today, and here are his findin's. Prime wants you in the conference. He wants your analysis, so you're back on half duty in two cycles. I figured ya'd want some time to get comfy with the data." Jazz smirked, holding out the data pad towards Prowl.

Prowl reached out for the pad, intrigued by Jazz's explanation. Jazz snatched it back at the last moment. Prowl frowned.

"Ya gotta promise me somethin', Prowler. Ya gotta promise me you'll recharge and not forget your energon. I know how you get when you get all wrapped up, and I know yer jus' bored senseless in here. So promise me."

Prowl glared at Jazz. "Jazz, that is entirely unnecessary."

"I know ya, Prowl." Jazz arched his own optic ridge at the black and white mech. "If you skip recharge or energon, Ratch'll know what your up to. Then he'll kill me, and he'll kill you, and then Prime'll have to throw him in the brig. Where'll the Autobots be without their 2 & 3IC and CMO?"

Prowl smirked. "Actually, Ratchet will probably kill Prime too for being in on this."

"Precisely. I knew you had good logic circuits in that processor somewhere. So ya' see, the fate of the entire Autobot army leadership is in your hands... if I give ya this pad." Jazz wiggled said pad again, just out of reach.

Prowl stood from his chair and leaned forward, crossing his arm across Jazz's chestplates to pluck the pad from his loose grip. "I promise I will recharge and take my energon, to save you from that terrible fate."

"And Prime."

"And Prime." Prowl was already scanning the pad's contents, glancing up at Jazz briefly with a small smile. Within moments, Prowl was asking Jazz questions about Mirage's mission, the Decepticon transmissions and signals intercepted, and the Army's own shared intelligence. Jazz smiled, leaning forward, eagerly diving into one of his favorite activities: intelligence analysis with Prowl.

* * *

The speed at which news traveled around the Ark always seemed to defy explanation. There was no seemingly standard temporal physics based determination for the variations in speed, except for the one Ratchet Coefficient: if it was bound to upset Ratchet, it was bound to get to his audials, quickly.

Jazz left Prowl's quarters later that afternoon, after extracting numerous promises and oaths to recharge and refuel, before Prowl finally banished him into the corridor. Jazz had returned the next morning bearing two cubes of energon only to find Prowl already had two warm cubes waiting for him. They worked through the analysis some more, Prowl having detailed several plausible scenarios and counter possibilities for the Pentagon, both including and excluding Autobot involvement based on necessity. Ultimately, Prowl had determined they needed more intelligence, though Mirage's work was, as always, excellent. The Decepticons were merely exceptionally good at hiding their intentions, especially with this new intervention in Earth affairs. Prowl hadn't ruled out the possibility that it was merely a decoy, a distraction to their main, and currently unknown, attack.

As Jazz left to resume his own duties, he paused in the doorframe, leaning in to ask a simple question. "Wanna join me tonight in the Rec Room for some energon, Prowler?"

Prowl had nodded once before busying himself with the fourth order effects of his 6th tactical scenario once again. Jazz merely smirked, well used to the tactician's habits and left, continuing down the hallway and smiling congenially at Trailbreaker.

Trailbreaker had heard the entire exchange, and since Prowl had been locked in his quarters on medical confinement, none of the mechs had been able to see him since his being thrown from the medbay. A few had braved Ratchet's lair and visited him at his berthside, but most were waiting until Prowl was back on duty to properly greet and welcome their 2IC back. Out of all the mechs on base, Prime and Jazz were the closest to him, and the others would have felt mildly uncomfortable approaching their 2IC in his personal quarters.

Trailbreaker immediately told Hound, who naturally told Mirage, who then told Bumblebee. Bumblebee told the rest of the minibots, and every mech knew they couldn't keep a secret to save their afts. Red Alert heard it through monitor duty, and told Skyfire, who was on comms, and Skyfire told both Silverbolt and Wheeljack. Wheeljack naturally told Ratchet in passing conversation that Prowl was going to be in the Rec Room that evening. Ratchet's response had been a single arched optic ridge and a dry, "Oh, really?"

Prowl was entirely unawares at the entire exchange and was simply looking forward to a relaxing walk, some light and cheerful banter with the mechs, then an early night. He certainly did not expect to walk into the Rec Room to find it nearly overflowing with delighted-to-see-him mechs.

The cheers and clapping that went up as he entered stopped both him and Jazz in their tracks. Jazz had been queried a few times during his shift as to whether Prowl was really going to be in the Rec Room that evening, but hadn't truly given much thought to it. Now however he realized that nearly the entire Ark had turned out for Prowl's first public outing.

Even Red Alert was there, leaning against the wall next to a seated Inferno, who, judging by the sheepish look on his face, had tried and failed to entice Red to sit on his lap instead of stand. Red Alert was having none of that. Bluestreak was in the corner with Hound, Mirage and Trailbreaker, beaming at Prowl across the room. The Protectobots were all gathered around a table, there for Prowl and as a gesture to their brother, First Aid, and his helpful successes with bringing Prowl online. Hoist and Grapple sat near the minibots, watching the video game with no small amount of curiosity. Skyfire and Silverbolt were in the other corner, taking up the whole space with their larger frames and wings. The minibots had clustered around the couch, arguing over a new video game until Prowl came in, then all eagerly jumped up and clapped the loudest. Wheeljack stood slightly behind Ratchet who was standing near the doorway waiting for his patient to enter with a smirking glare and quick medical scan, which came up fine.

Prowl was stunned. He wasn't a recluse and wasn't unfriendly with the mechs on the Ark, but he didn't consider himself especially close with most mechs either. He was their superior officer, in charge of them all, though in a much different way than Prime. Most of his interactions with some of the assembled mechs had to do almost entirely with disciplinary actions, or with remedial tactical sparring or shooting training. It certainly wasn't the type of contact to breed friendly feelings towards him over.

However, there was no denying the warmth of emotion that poured from the room, all directed at him. He stood stupefied for a moment as mechs began walking up to him and shaking his hand, patting his shoulderjoint, welcoming him back and wishing him good health.

Jazz must have sensed his dazed confusion. He stepped close behind Prowl, right in between his doorwings, murmuring in his audial. "Toldja' ya had our gears all a'grindin'" His accent was deep, thick with emotion.

After Prowl had been welcomed and wished well by nearly the entire room, Jazz steered him to an empty table in the corner. "I'll grab us some energon." He moved off across the room, optics catching on one table on the far side. Jazz cringed, Prowl catching the movement and following his optics to what Jazz had seen.

Ah.

When Jazz returned, Prowl took one sip of his energon before launching into Jazz. "Have you apologized to the twins yet?"

Jazz was, unfortunately, still swallowing when Prowl spoke. He coughed, gears slipping on the energon suddenly in the wrong line. Prowl waited for him to correct himself, studying his friend carefully. "Ya' heard about that?" Jazz's voice was quiet, his helm looking downward at the table.

"Yes. And have you?"

Jazz sighed. "Not yet. I've been a bit busy…" his voice trailed off at his lame excuse.

Prowl stood. "You are not busy now."

Jazz's optics widened, staring at up at Prowl in surprise. "Prowl! I'm – I'm busy here with you!"

"Jazz." Prowl's tone held no room for argument.

Jazz sighed, knowing that Prowl was right. He stood, grabbing his energon and following the mech across the room to the far table that held the twins, separate from the rest of the gathered mechs. The twins watched their advance warily, Sideswipe with barely concealed disdain for Jazz. Sunstreaker gave no indication of their advancement, looking outward over the assembled mechs with distant optics.

Prowl stopped next to their table. "May we join you?"

Sideswipe glanced at his brother who did not acknowledge either Jazz or Prowl's presence. Sideswipe threw himself back in his chair huffily. "Sit where you want."

Prowl and Jazz slid into the two empty seats, Jazz much more slowly than Prowl. Prowl said nothing, didn't look at Jazz. Jazz didn't need Prowl's obvious indication that he needed to speak, and speak now. He rolled the energon cube between his black hands. "I, ahh… I need to apologize t' ya both. What I said, before… it was unfair. It was pretty stupid o' me." Jazz looked up at the twins. Neither of them were looking back at him. Sideswipe was gazing at the minibots, a bored expression on his face as he watched them all arguing over the proper maneuvers for the video game display. Sunstreaker was looking at the bulkhead, gears in his neck and throat twitching back and forth, fingers gripping the chair tight enough to leave dents.

Jazz's apology wasn't getting anywhere. "I'm sorry," he tried again. "I was really stupid –"

Prowl cut Jazz off. "And wrong." Both twins suddenly snapped around and looked at Prowl, surprise in their optics. "Neither of you are to blame for my injuries."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other for a long moment. They had spent a long time discussing this very issue while out on extended patrol. Sunstreaker was unconvinced that they hadn't just left him alone, left him to an obvious fate against a much heavier built Seeker model. Sideswipe adamantly opposed that, believing that they both had acted exactly as Prowl had known they would, as they were expected to in battle. Jet Judo was their attack; it was the first way, and remained an effective way, to deal with the Seekers, even with the Aerialbots now online and with the Autobots. It wasn't a tactic they were ready or willing to give up.

Prowl pressed forward, catching both of their optics. "I, and only myself, am to blame for what happened to me. There were two places where I failed myself in that battle, and in all likelihood, failed yourselves as well."

Jazz started, placing his hand on Prowl's shoulder strut. "Prowl, ya didn' fail anythin'!"

Sunstreaker leaned forward, tilting his head to the side curiously. Sideswipe spoke up, finally. "What do you mean, Prowl?

"First, I failed to effectively shoot out Starscream's thruster's. I am a ranged fighter. While I am not as talented as Bluestreak, I am most effective at distance shooting. That shot should have been an easier one for me." Jazz made a move to interrupt, but Prowl silenced him with a look. "Second, I was distracted momentarily by Thundercracker and gave Starscream the advantage over me. Had I been able to effectively bring down his thrusters initially, the battle would have gone quite differently. If I then had not allowed myself to become distracted by Thundercracker, it also would have played out much differently. You both were facing off quite well against the Seekers. We might have been able to down all three, even capture them, had I not lost the battle for us."

The three other occupants of the table sat in stunned silence. Sunstreaker held Prowl's optics, gazing hard into them, searching for the lie. He didn't find one. He sighed, vents expelling a rush of air across the table.

"It wasn't…" Sideswipe began. "That's not what I thought." Sideswipe frowned at Prowl. "It's not your fault. It's like Prime said: We're all in this together."

Prowl nodded. "Yes, we are. None of us are capable of perfect accuracy in everything we do. We can only strive for our best, for the betterment of the whole." He sipped his energon, letting his words sink into the other mechs at the table. "I look forward to patrol duty again with you both."

Sideswipe nodded, sliding his cube over to clink against Prowl's in affirmation. Sunstreaker, silent and glowering as ever, merely leaned back in his chair, studying Prowl carefully.

The mood was broken by the sudden and loud arrival of Fireflight. Silverbolt had told him that Prowl would be in the Rec Room that evening, but Fireflight had lost track of time, again, and was late, again. It made matters worse that he had to stop by his quarters and retrieve his carefully guarded and hidden-from-his-brothers gift to Prowl before joining the others. He really was quite late.

"Prowl!" Fireflight's happy and cheerful squeal peeled across the room. All four mechs turned to see the orange and white winged blur rush their table. Both Lambo twins looked shocked, mouths uncharacteristically agape at the thing in Fireflight's grip.

"I heard you were coming here tonight! I'm very glad to see you're feeling better. You really didn't look too good the last time I saw you." Fireflight frowned, bodily checking Prowl over with his optics. "Ratchet's amazing." He smiled up at Prowl, wide and openly.

"What is that?" Sideswipe's tone was flat, devoid of any emotion save confusion.

"Oh! I found this while we were practicing our maneuvers." Fireflight was notorious for bringing back his found treasures to the Ark. He hefted his gift to Prowl, a half a bush, thorny, with silvery-blue round flowers covering the head of the plant. "Hound says it's a rose called 'Blue Girl.' I found it while we were practicing our high-speed, low-altitude turns. It caught my optics during our descent." Fireflight fingered one of the delicate petals before pushing it towards Prowl. "You said blue was your favorite color, and there's never any blue around here. I thought you might like it for your quarters."

Prowl took the bush into his hands, careful to avoid the thorns. There was a glowing mass on the bottom of the bush, filled with a liquid jelly. "What's this?"

"Wheeljack made that!" Sideswipe instantly leaned back, away from the bush that he had peered closer to inspect. "It's organic, so it needs all sorts of nutrients to survive. Wheeljack made a stasis pod for the roots with some sort of fertilizer, he said. We've also been putting it under this special light of his for days now." Fireflight turned his optics, full of naked wonder, up to Prowl's faceplates. "Wheeljack's lab is full of amazing things."

Prowl smiled openly down at Fireflight. "Fireflight, thank you very much. I do appreciate this."

Fireflight's smile widened, beaming up at the 2IC. "I'm very happy you're alright." He turned, starting to walk away from their table. "And thank you, again." Fireflight smiled once more, then quickly walked over to join Silverbolt and Skyfire, his wings nearly managing to clip the entire row of minibots helms over the back of the couch as he passed. Sunstreaker watched his passage across the room without attempting to hide his shock, finally bringing his helm back around to stare at the organic shrub in Prowl's hands.

Sideswipe hissed in a breath as Prowl fingered the glowing stasis pod at the base of the rose bush. He caught Wheeljack's optics across the room, vocal fins flashing as he watched Prowl look over the bush. Prowl smiled, nodding to Wheeljack, thanking him for his assistance with Fireflight's gift.

"What in the Pit was that?" Sunstreaker finally spoke up, dazedly looking between the rose bush and Prowl's unsurprised face. Jazz hid his laughing smile behind his black hand.

"A megacycle ago, I helped Fireflight with some code modifications to his program. We worked on situational and tactical awareness, framing it in the best way possible for his CPU to process." Prowl did not elaborate that he had actually spent orns with Fireflight, after shifts and patrols, learning how Fireflight saw and understood the world around him, then used that as a base to add new code to his processor, utilizing the strengths and natural tendencies inherent within his spark already. His sensors were already clued into the multitude of stimulation around him. He merely needed to better discern which was situational or tactically significant at any given time. Fireflight had been overjoyed at Prowl's patient assistance, and truly delighted to have found someone who did not judge him or belittle him for his naked wonder at the world surrounding his sensors. His gratitude to Prowl had been never ending, thanking Prowl every time he saw him, despite Prowl's assurances that he would have helped any Autobot who needed the assistance.

It was one of those spark-melting things that Jazz adored about Prowl. Not many of the other 'bots knew about those lessons between Prowl and Fireflight. Jazz had only discovered them when he went looking for the mysteriously missing tactician one evening, after a series of absences from the Rec Room for their semi-regular energon chats. He had found Prowl outside with Fireflight, sensors hooked the young flyers wings and CPU as he flew around the sheltered areas of the Ark. Prowl truly would have done the same for any other Autobot that needed the aid. He lived his life for the others under his command, in much the same way that Prime did. Jazz privately wondered occasionally if Prime were to fall, would Prowl receive the Matrix? He shared many of the same qualities that Prime did: selfless service, dedication and sacrifice, care and concern for those he commanded.

Sideswipe was smirking at something Prowl had said. "Best way for his CPU? You mean you drew pictures?" Sideswipe snorted rudely.

"Not at all. His sensor net is nearly as fine-tuned as Red Alert's. He simply needed the right direction and focus to zero in on the correct stimulation as the situation demands."

Sunstreaker smirked. "Sounds like you have an admirer."

Prowl arched both his optic ridges. "Again, not at all. He is entirely innocent, and breathtakingly young." He paused, looking between the two twins. "Actually, he's a very welcome respite from you annoying mechs."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker finally smiled, each grinning with the other. Jazz chuckled as well, helping set Prowl's new rose bush next to their table in between them. "Hey Prowl?"

"Yes, Jazz?"

"Think ya could give Side's some flyin' lessons too? He really needs t' work on his landin's!" Sideswipe groaned, helm crashing onto the table in front of him. Sunstreaker full out smiled, smacking his twin on the back of his helm as Jazz laughed out loud.

"Did Grapple save that tree?" Prowl asked with mock seriousness. "It would go great with this rose bush. I think we could set up a garden in that corner. It'd really liven up this room."

A joor later, Prowl stood to leave. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had joined the minibots, or more correctly, had pushed the minibots off of the couch and joined their game by declaring that they were to play the winners. To the amassed joy of the entire room, Cliffjumper won, and was now facing off _mono a mono_ with the Lambo twins.

Jazz stood to leave with Prowl, grabbing his rose bush carefully. "You don't need to leave, Jazz. Stay. I know you've been busy these past orns with double duties."

Jazz smiled, shaking his head. "I'd rather stay with you. I've seen their faceplates every cycle. You've been slackin' in the med bay though, denyin' me your lovely presence."

Prowl chuckled. "I thought I'd head outside for a bit, then off to recharge."

"You're actually goin' t' review those scenarios for tomorrow again." At Prowl's sly, sideways glance of his optics, Jazz laughed. "I know ya, Prowler!" They left the Rec Room together, chuckling.

Once outside, Prowl stood just past the entrance to the Ark. Jazz set Fireflight's rosebush down carefully, propping it against the bulkhead and joined Prowl, sitting on a rocky outcropping near the black and white tactician. They remained together in silence for several breems, each lost in thought.

"Was it really that bad, Jazz?" Prowl's voice was low, questioning.

"Whadda' mean, Prowl?" Jazz turned to look at his friend, visor dimmed low in the cool night air.

"Was I really hurt that badly? Tonight, all of the mechs… You haven't left my side. Was it really that bad?" Prowl held Jazz's gaze as the ground dropped out beneath the Saboteur.

Jazz hadn't been able to get a full night of recharge since the attack on Prowl. He woke halfway through every cycle, panting and clutching at his berth in sheer terror. Visions of Prowl, drained, seizing, dieing, replayed themselves again and again in his processor. Nightmares of a life without Prowl flashed in his CPU, intermingled with nightmares about the trail of Prowl's energon. Never before had Jazz seen so much energon outside a mech. His optics drifted behind Prowl to the Ark's entrance, to where he had scrubbed at Prowl's fluids with Prime, spark clenched and breaking in his chestplates.

"Yeah," he choked out, white noise behind his words. "Yeah, it was bad." He looked back to Prowl. "Thought that was the last time I was goin' to see you."

Prowl stepped forward, close to Jazz. His voice was low, insistent. "I'm alright, Jazz. I'm alright."

Jazz smiled weakly at Prowl, reaching out to gently push on Prowl's chestplate. "I know, Prowler." Prowl caught Jazz's hand, holding it in both of his own. Jazz inhaled sharply, looking into Prowl's optics.

"Thank you," Prowl said at last. He squeezed Jazz's hand, letting go and stepping back.

Jazz smiled back at his best friend, the focal point of his life, the crux of his very existence. "Not a prob, Prowler." He stood, dusting his armor off. "Let's get back inside."

* * *

The next morning cycle, Prowl was, annoyingly, early. Jazz had had trouble recharging again, this time not able to fall into recharge until late in the night cycle. Prowl had been waiting in his office for nearly a joor when Jazz finally rushed in, still drinking his energon.

Prowl was reviewing the final pieces of his presentation to the Pentagon, which began promptly at 9am Eastern US Earth time. A quick glance at Jazz's internal chronometer showed he had half a joor to prepare for his own portion. He finished his energon quickly, both of them working away in companionable silence.

They shuffled into the meeting, set in Prime's office, early, Prime wanting to see them both before the teleconference began. Prime was delighted to see Prowl, and though he wasn't in the Rec Room the night prior, asked after Fireflight's bush. Apparently Prime had seen the young flier hauling it into the Ark the cycle he returned with it from patrol. It was, according to Prime, quite a bit bigger when he first arrived than what Prowl was presented with.

Prime initiated the uplink with the US Pentagon at precisely 6am Western US Earth time. Formalities were exchanged across the channels, a few new Generals being introduced to the Autobots and their mission and purpose on Earth. Prime once again explained the Autobot position of non-interference and neutral alignment within Earth's political factions and conflicts. They would, however, render aid if a Decepticon threat were to threaten the US military or military interests around the world, which is what seemed to be occurring.

At 9:30, Eastern US Earth time, Prime turned the conference over to Prowl and Jazz. Prowl stood, nodding to Jazz and taking his place in front of the teleconference screen, plugging his data pad into the computer uplink to transfer their data and information.

Senseless, meaningless glyphs raced across the data link in a blur. Each scenario, each careful calculation of data and analysis of intelligence gathered had been removed and replaced by a random pattern of lines, dashes and hashes, cascading in a never ending cycle across the link. Jazz and Prime looked at each other in shock. Their own data pads, keyed into the wireless Teletran network displayed the same information.

The Pentagon staff was not amused. "What is this corrupted data?" A balding, shrewd faced man questioned, peering across the uplink at Prowl, who still hadn't reacted.

Jazz started to rise. "Prowler?" he asked questioningly. Prowl was unplugging and replugging the data pad in to the terminal, over and over. Jazz moved closer, laying his hand on Prowl's upper arm. "Prowl?"

The reaction was instantaneous. Prowl collapsed to the ground, static and a high pitched whine escaping his vocalizer. The instant he hit the floor, his body began seizing, massive jerks of motion nearly taking Jazz out as he kicked and trashed. His helm impacted the table, bounced off the bulkhead, cracking his recently repaired optic again. Energon trickled out from behind the sensitive lines.

Prime was instantly calling for Ratchet, then dropped to the ground beside Prowl's seizing form, attempting to shield him from the harsh edges of the table housing. Ironhide burst into Prime's office, alerted by the frantic call for medical aid. He also joined Prime on the floor, attempting to buffet Prowl's other side, keeping him from the bulkhead. "No, don't restrain him!" Prime instructed.

Jazz pressed himself against the bulkhead, watching Prowl seize and whine on the floor, energon frothing out of his denta, optics flickering with static and pulses of light. Prowl's doorwings fluttered and smacked into the deck plating harshly. Jazz was powerless to move, frozen in place. The staff from the Pentagon crowded around their side of the viewing screen, trying to get a better angle on what was happening.

Ratchet arrived in half a breem, First Aid with him. Prowl hadn't stopped seizing, was still shaking and writhing on the floor, vocalizer now keening in agony. Prime was trying to talk to him, trying to get him to focus on his voice. It was having no effect.

Ratchet shoved Prime and Ironhide away, stabbing Prowl's main ascending energon arterial line to the CPU with a spike of sedative. He emptied an entire syringe into the line; Prowl continued to seize, the sedative having no appreciative effect. Ratchet swore, violently, motioning for First Aid to hand him more sedative. Three syringes later, Prowl finally stilled, barely twitching on Prime's office floor.

Ratchet quickly scanned him, continuing his swearing. "His systems are running hot. We've got to get him to medical!" Ratchet stood, motioning to Ironhide. "You, carry him. First Aid, go get a gurney, meet us enroute. Call Hoist and Wheeljack!" First Aid ran out of the room, full speed. Ironhide hefted Prowl in his arms, the dead weight of the tactician nearly unbalancing the red warrior.

"Steady?" Prime braced Ironhide's back as he struggled to shift Prowl's weight.

"Let's go!" Ratchet hustled to the doorway, motioning for Ironhide to follow him quickly. Jazz finally stepped away from the bulkhead as Ironhide exited, Ratchet hot on his heels.

"We need to take a short break. We will be back in a breem." Prime didn't wait for a response, cutting the connection to the Pentagon immediately.

Jazz collapsed in his chair, frame shaking. "Wh… Wha' happened?" he whispered, locking optics with Prime through his visor.

"I do not know."


	5. Chapter 5

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 5

* * *

Jazz's optics and audials were whirring, static and white noise crashing around him in a cacophony of sound. He couldn't move, couldn't fight his way out of the crushing noise surrounding his helm. He brought his hands up to his horns, struggling to tear through the haze surrounding him.

From somewhere far away, distant and unknown, he heard Prime's voice calling to him. "Jazz? Jazz!"

Prime's hand descending on Jazz's shoulder brought him back to reality in a flash. He stumbled, startled under the force of the dissipating haze from his audials. Suddenly the world seemed overbright, overloud. Jazz looked up to Prime's worried faceplate, his optics wide. "Prime…" his voice was thick with worry.

"Jazz. We need to continue with the presentation to the Pentagon."

Jazz merely stared at Prime.

"Ratchet has Prowl, Jazz. He will be alright. Ratchet has him." Prime's voice was full of conviction, though it seemed as if he was attempting to convince himself as well as Jazz. "This new Decepticon threat is serious and unknown, as you know, and we need the Army's assistance." He paused, looking hard into Jazz's visor. "I need you to continue the presentation."

Jazz nodded, breaking optic contact with Prime. He knew, in his CPU, that Prowl was in good hands with Ratchet. The best hands a mech could be in. But that didn't quell his aching need, deep in his spark, to rush to the medbay and stay there, watching and waiting over Prowl's new condition. What had happened? What had just happened?

That however, was not the right thing to do. Jazz was an officer, an Autobot officer, and knew he had to fulfill his duties, perform his function, diligently execute his obligations. Prime was right; the Decepticon threat was real. Rushing to medbay to fret and worry would not assist their mission or Prowl. He needed to collect his processor He needed to calm down.

"You spent some time with Prowl developing your joint analysis and estimations. Can you recreate them? I am not expecting perfectly accurate detail." Prime's hand still hadn't left Jazz's shoulderjoint.

"Yeah… Yeah, Prime. I can do it." Jazz pressed himself off the bulkhead he had been leaning against, rather, trying to disappear into, standing still for a moment to cycle his vents. Prime caught his optics through his visor, nodding once.

Jazz smiled weakly, trying to show Prime that he was alright and that he was collecting himself. He failed utterly, walking on shaking feet to the access terminal that still housed Prowl's corrupted data pad. Prowl had bent the sockets on the connection cable during his continued and repeated attempts to force the data pad into the uplink circuit. Jazz shuddered, finally separating the two components. Prowl hadn't responded to him. Hadn't acknowledged Jazz was there. What had happened? What had just happened?

"I'll reestablish the connection when you are ready Jazz." Prime's low voice broke Jazz's rapidly descending train of though.

Jazz turned back to the teleconference display array, nodding to Prime. "I'm ready."

Prime looked hard at Jazz, nodded once and reinitiated the uplink. The officers and staff gathered on the Pentagon side had gotten up and moved around their room, confused and intrigued by the unknown commotion on the Autobot side. They started, heads snapping to the display as Prime spoke. "I must apologize for the interruption. One of my officers was wounded in battle recently. His health is our chief priority right now."

The humans were settling back into their seats, looking with interest at Prime and Jazz and wondering after the missing black and white doorwinger. "We've certainly had quite a bit of wounded on this side as well. We understand completely," one of the Generals, lithe with salt and pepper hair said back to Prime with a small smile.

Prime nodded, then turned to Jazz. "My Special Operations officer, Jazz, will continue the presentation." Prime nodded to Jazz, managing to convey more in one glance of optics than Jazz could hear in the saddest love song. His gears clenched painfully in his throat before he forcibly ground them open addressing the assembled humans.

"Prowl'n I spent several days analyzin' the intelligence readin's we gathered from our own mech's undercover infiltration of yer identified target zones." There were a few murmurs and sounds of surprise from the other side of the link. Jazz hadn't cleared Mirage's mission with the Pentagon prior to sending the mech overseas, via Skyfire. He wanted objective information, needed to see the data with Cybertronian understandings. Mirage hadn't disappointed. The humans were excellent allies, the few times they had worked together running along smoothly for the most part. But Jazz knew they were also prone to complications, inserting political understandings and Earth-based faction squabbles that they weren't a part of. This situation was a land mine for them, the Decepticons popping up in the middle of a US Army war zone. "We intercept'd clear Decepticon communications and data signals between these vectored areas." Jazz indicated to the maps on display in the corner of their teleconference display.

"Have you managed to decode the transmissions?" A human in a suit, not a uniform, interrupted Jazz.

"No. The Decepticons use entirely different code than we do. It's been an ongoin' cryptanalysis mission of ours for vorn to break their continuous cyclin' processes of quantum superencipherment." Jazz tuned back to the maps on display. "The US Army's electronic signals interception provided us with…" Jazz's focus faded out, vocalizer and a part of his CPU continuing to process and share the analysis he and Prowl had put together over the past two cycles. Jazz's main processor whirred with thoughts of Prowl.

It was Prowl's pet project to break the Decepticon code. It was an intellectual challenge to him, a task that he personally took on. He went back to it, again and again, fiddling with different alphanumeric strings and code matrices, attempting to quantify the values in each dimension of the codes encryption. Jazz enjoyed helping him, enjoyed the times they bickered good-naturedly over which matrix value to insert in the quantum chain.

Thoughts of Prowl continued to pour into Jazz's processor as he continued speaking, acting on automation. Memories and moments of their friendship flashed across his CPU. What had happened? What had just happened?

Jazz's vocalizer shorted as the memories became too much, the worry too harsh. White noise filled the room. Jazz swallowed, gears grinding in protest, forcing his tightness to subside. He would finish this. He would. He could.

Jazz started up again. "Our best and most logical supposition for the increasin' Decepticon activity in these areas…"

Once again, his traitorous processor whirled his CPU away to memories and images of Prowl. _Logical._ Prowl was always logical. It was Prowl's logic that Jazz was discussing now, calmly and serenely, as if his best friend wasn't being rushed to medbay under Ratchet's fearful optics.

"Unfortunately, we haven't been able to discover any further Decepticon activity to support these findin's. We need t' still keep the option open that this may be a diversionary attempt by the 'Cons. Or a faction within them…" Starscream. Starscream was always plotting, scheming, planning something new. There was always something more going on behind his cold, impenetrable sneer. Starscream sent a deeper chill through Jazz's spark then Megatron did. Megatron was brute force, strength, iron-fisted will desirous of absolute power and control. He would be stopped by inertia. The Autobots would eventually drag him down, stop his forward march of destruction and death.

Starscream was sly, devious, finicky. His brand of power and hunger knew no limits, knew no boundaries. He was all the more dangerous for his lack of limits, his lack at predictability. His evil was a hatred that consumed the spark, bitter and cold, wasting away at all around him. Starscream had shot Prowl. Starscream had almost killed Prowl. Was Starscream still killing Prowl? What had happened? What had just happened?

Focus. Jazz had to focus. "What we need is more intelligence. We propose sendin' a small team of Autobots to supplement a US Special Operations unit in the effected areas. By combinin' our technologies and knowledge of the sectors, we'll be able to better project the Decepticon's mission." Jazz stopped, finally through with his quick summation of his and Prowl's thoroughly careful intelligence estimate. He had forgotten bits, left out details. He certainly didn't give Mirage his due. He didn't much care.

"Thank you, Jazz." Prime stood from his chair, looking to Jazz with a meaningful stare. "You are dismissed."

Jazz didn't wait to acknowledge the order, didn't acknowledge the Pentagon staffers across the uplink. He fled, near running off the Command Deck and into the corridor, where he only managed to get five steps before tilting and careening into the wall, leaning backwards and cycling his vents in huge, breathy gasps for air.

What had happened? What had just happened?

* * *

Jazz arrived at the medbay several breems later, after having calmed himself from his worried frenzy. Prowl was unconscious in medical stasis on one of the back berths, Ratchet and Wheeljack buffering him on either side and arguing back and forth across his frame.

Wheeljack saw Jazz first, vocal fins flashing as his head tilted. For once, he didn't look cheerful, but confused, as when he was presented with a particularly difficult engineering problem. Ratchet followed Wheeljack's stare, turning with a frown to see Jazz walking towards them.

Ratchet moved to intercept Jazz before he could get halfway to Prowl's berth. "Jazz, we're busy. Come back later."

"Is he alrigh' Ratchet?"

Ratchet physically turned Jazz around, pushing him by his back struts to the door. "Jazz, I need you to leave, right now."

Jazz dug his heels in, whipping his head around to stare at Ratchet. "Ratch. Will he be alrigh'?"

Ratchet sighed, stopping to look directly at Jazz. "We don't know what happened, Jazz. We need some time to figure it out." He pushed Jazz the last few feet out the medbay doors. "Come back later." Ratchet disappeared back into the medbay, Wheeljack bent low across Prowl's frame and uplinking Prowl's cervical collum access to one of Ratchet's various diagnostic mechanical medical devices. The medbay door slid shut, blocking Jazz's view of the activity inside.

He stepped back slowly until his back struts hit the far bulkhead of the hallway and leaned his helm back until it rested against the orange metal. For a moment, Jazz couldn't figure out what the strange tapping noise was until he realized his hands were shaking against the metal behind him. He squeezed his hands tight into fists in front of him, sliding down the bulkhead until he was slumped down on the ground, optics never leaving the medbay doors.

Sunstreaker limped down the corridor, cursing low under his breath. He stopped dead in his tracks when he turned the corner to the medbay and saw Jazz slumped down across the hall, visor dim. Jazz's helm whipped around, visor onlining as he stood up quickly. Sunstreaker had managed to sneak up unawares on the always-careful Saboteur.

Sunstreaker looked from the medbay doors to Jazz. It wasn't had to figure out what why Jazz was waiting in the hallway.

"What happened?" Sunstreaker was gruff as ever, though genuinely concerned.

Jazz shook his head. "Ratch doesn' know. Prowl… collapsed." He wouldn't say seizure. He wouldn't say that Prowl had crashed to the ground, seizing and shaking until the energon frothed from his mouth and he had cracked his optic against the table housing. He wouldn't. "What happened to ya?" Jazz was looking Sunstreaker up and down, noticing the odd cant to the Lambo's footing and guarded clutching at his lower abdominal plating.

"Perimeter Patrol. Someone broke glass in the road." Sunstreaker shifted uncomfortably.

Jazz smirked. "Goin' too fast to scan for it?" Sunstreaker glared at Jazz. There was one road on the far edge of their inner perimeter patrol that they shared with the humans. It was often littered with glass and dangerous debris, which most mechs managed to avoid. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker often liked to tear loose on the paved road though, racing each other full speed where they could as opposed to in the sandy desert around the Ark.

Sunstreaker glared at the medbay doors, then back at Jazz. "I'm going to see Hoist." He starting limping down the hallway once more.

Jazz stared at the medbay doors, then after Sunstreaker's retreating form. "I'll walk ya, Sunny."

Sunstreaker just glared at him.

* * *

Sunstreaker had to transform back into his vehicle mode for Hoist to remove the glass shards from his tires and undercarriage. Jazz helped Hoist position him on the raised jack as Prime pinged his internal comm.

"Jazz, this is Prime. Are you alright?"

Jazz tightened the strap on Sunstreaker's undamaged back tire, earning a thundering revving of the Lambo's engine for his efforts. "I'm helpin' Sunny right now, Prime. Seems he brought home some glass from his patrol."

"You did very well this morning, Jazz. It was … difficult to continue. You did very well."

Jazz's gears clenched painfully in the throat again. "How'd the Pentagon react?"

"They liked your and Prowl's plans very much. They want to move ahead with your suggestion to join forces for a reconnaissance mission."

"It was Prowl's idea."

Prime let that comment slide. "They're sending more information for review. I'd like you to start taking a look at it this cycle. I want to see your plan for the reconnaissance team next cycle."

"No problem, Prime. I'll get righ' on it." Sunstreaker blew a long, loud horn blast as Hoist wrenched a particularly large and jagged piece of glass from his front tire, deflating the pressure. It seemed like the perfect time to escape back to his office.

The uploaded data from the Pentagon and Prime's request for a complete recon plan kept Jazz's CPU occupied and his processor off of Prowl. Sunstreaker's interrupting him in the hallway had prevented an all-out slide of his processor down into the depths of wallowing in worry and fear for his friend. It wasn't until Sunstreaker interrupted his preliminary planning by waltzing into his office uninvited, asking after Prowl, that Jazz had time to think to go back to the medbay.

"I dunno, Sunny. Haven' heard from Ratch." Jazz stood, offlining his terminal. "Time t' go check."

Sunstreaker walked with Jazz down to the medbay, silent and imposing as ever. Jazz tried to ask after his glass removal with Hoist, but received only a glare for his efforts in asking. Jazz didn't mind the silence for once, thoughts racing back to Prowl and what had happened earlier. Ratchet's worried face kept flashing in his CPU. He didn't know what he'd find when he got there.

Prowl was sitting up on the berth, leaning back against the bulkhead with his doorwings spread wide. He was looking down into his hands, loosely held in his lap and flicking at a drip line in his wrist. Jazz stilled at the sight, Sunstreaker nearly walking into him, grumbling at Jazz's sudden stop.

Prowl didn't look up.

Jazz quietly, carefully made his way over to his berth, trying to catch Prowl's optics. Sunstreaker held back, watching. Finally, Prowl looked up when Jazz was nearly next to his berth. "Heya Prowler. How'r ya feelin'?"

Prowl stopped worrying the spike to his radial line. "Ratchet does not know what happened." His voice was low, tight.

Jazz reached for his white hand, but dropped it next to Prowl's leg on the berth. "You're alrigh' now."

Prowl ignored him. "How did the teleconference with the US Government go? I hope my disturbance wasn't too great."

Jazz clenched his denta, grinding his gears. Prowl could exceptionally stubborn when he was wound up. "It went well. They're pleased with yer simulations. I've been workin' on some recon team mission specs this afternoon." Prowl nodded, finally looking at Jazz's faceplates. "I'd like ya to take a look at 'em when ya feel better."

Prowl looked down again, hands back to worrying his energon spiked line. "I'm afraid I wont be back on duty for the foreseeable future." His throat gears tightened, shifting back and forth. "I'm sure your simulations will be more than adequate."

Jazz had had enough. Sighing, he finally grabbed Prowl's hands, stilling their movements. "Prowl." Jazz shook Prowl's hands in his own. "Look a' me."

Prowl finally raised his optics to Jazz's visor. Ratchet had replaced the cracked and damaged optic sometime during the day and both were shining equally brightly, if worriedly, on Jazz.

"You are goin' to be all right, Prowl. Ya are."

"Jazz…" Prowl broke optic contact. "Jazz, there are random energy spikes across my neural net. Ratchet can't track the source. He can't trace it to an origination circuit."

"Can't ya offline? Dissipate the energy somehow?"

"I've spent half the cycle offline, Jazz." Prowl shook his helm, looking down at their joined hands.

"Did ya… didja have another …incident?"

"My systems started running hot. I was burning through energon, oil and coolant. It felt like my tanks were about to burst. Even with Ratchet's sedatives, he could only bring my systems down a little."

Jazz swallowed, flashing back to the surgical room when Prowl had laid on the back berth, chest plates open and smoking as his gears and internal pumps had worked themselves at a frenzied and unnatural pace. He could still smell the scent of Prowl's burning energon in his fitful recharges, still hear the sounds of Wheeljack and Ratchet slipping on Prowl's fluids, metal sliding across the sticky, cold floor.

"It hurts, Jazz." Prowl looked back up at Jazz, voice almost a whisper. White hands squeezed black ones, looking for reassurance and comfort.

"You're goin' to be all right, Prowler." Jazz squeezed back. "Ya are. I promise."

Ratchet finally walked out of his office, having spotted Jazz talking with Prowl. He nearly walked into Sunstreaker, still hanging back near the medbay entrance. "What are you doing here, Sunstreaker?"

Sunstreaker straightened, turning from Jazz and Prowl to look at Ratchet. "Just checking on Prowl." Sunstreaker turned to leave.

"Hoist said you had a glass accident today."

Sunstreaker stilled. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are." Ratchet walked up behind Sunstreaker, scanning quickly. "That patch wont hold on your front left tire if you decide to race Sideswipe again, which is against regulations, I might add. Be sure to get that looked at."

Sunstreaker nodded once, and left, not looking back. Ratchet sighed, then turned towards Jazz and Prowl. They dropped their hands as Ratchet approached, something he didn't comment on. "How are you feeling, Prowl?"

"I'm feeling fine now, Ratchet."

Ratchet broke the spike lead to the fluids drip in Prowl's arm, applying a pressure bandage around his armor to help seal the weakened internal lines. "I want you to come here immediately if you sense anything is going wrong. If you start running hot, if you start feeling out of sorts, comm me right away. Understand?" Prowl nodded. "Good. What you described to me this morning was most likely an aura. Your sensor net sensed something was wrong at some level, but didn't know how to interpret the signals. Anything unusual, any odd feelings, sensations, anything out of the ordinary. You comm me."

"I understand, Ratchet."

Ratchet nodded as Prowl climbed off the berth with the help of Jazz. Jazz's hands lingered a bit too long as he helped his friend steady himself on his feet, black hands on Prowl's shoulders and arms.

"I also want you back here tomorrow morning. Wheeljack and I are going to start running some more diagnostics. Your circuitry readouts are good. We don't think it's an electrical systems functionality issue. I want to look at your code."

Prowl stiffened. Jazz inhaled sharply. A 'bots code was their life. It was the programming and data compiled and assembled by the processor in conjunction with the mechs spark to give life and meaning to the quantum processes of the neural net. It was ever-changing, evolving, always growing. Tendrils of spark energy suffused the entire long sequence, each mech's code an inherently individual and highly guarded piece of themselves.

Ratchet sighed. "I want to make sure you're not running any faulty codes or deviations. We dry shocked your spark, Prowl. That could have thrown a slip into your code."

Prowl didn't like it, but Ratchet was right. "I understand, Ratchet. I'll be here in the morning."

"It will take a while. We'll go slowly." The process of reading a mech's code was long, laborious and highly invasive.

Prowl nodded again. "Am I free to go?"

"You are. Refuel, recharge. See me in the morning."

"Thank you Ratchet." Prowl and Jazz walked towards the medbay door, Jazz trying his best not to appear as if he was hovering over Prowl, though he was truthfully half a step behind the doorwinger and had his optics glued to his back.

"Oh, and Prowl?" Prowl turned back to Ratchet, optics raised, questioning. "You're off duty. Entirely. Until further notice."

* * *

Prowl stopped Jazz just down the corridor. "I don't think I can take the Rec Room tonight." He looked down the hallway towards his quarters. "Sorry."

Jazz smiled. "Why don' I get us some energon and we relax in your quarters? You've spen' most o' the day offline. I bet yer not ready for recharge jus' yet."

"Are you certain?" Jazz might have imagined it, but he thought he saw a flash of hope in Prowl's optics.

"Positive. I'll be back in a breem." Jazz took off towards the Rec Room.

When Jazz walked through the door, most of the gathered mechs stopped their conversations immediately. It didn't take him an astrosecond to figure out just what they had been discussing. "He's alrigh', 'bots. He's goin' to be fine." Jazz forced hopeful and calm enthusiasm into his vocalizer, feelings he wasn't quite certain he felt as strongly as he let on.

Ironhide intercepted Jazz on the way to the energon dispenser, optics full of concern and worry. "He's good, Jazz? He's really alright? It looked real bad earlier."

Jazz remembered the way Ironhide had stumbled under the dead weight of Prowl, heavy with sedatives coursing through his lines. Ironhide hadn't hesitated and had scooped the tactician up and raced with Ratchet down to the medbay. "He and Ratch are workin' on it. He'll be alrigh'." Jazz collected his two cubes of energon and smiled at Ironhide, getting ready to make his way back to Prowl. "Thank you. For what ya did."

Ironhide smiled, tired old faceplates crinkling around his optics. "Tell him I still want that shootin' contest in the armory one of these days."

Jazz laughed. "Will do! Yer goin' to get yer aft handed to ya on yer skidplate!"

"We'll see, wont we!" Ironhide chuckled as Jazz skirted out the Rec Room and made his way back to Prowl's quarters.

When Jazz arrived, Prowl was sitting sideways on his berth, doorwings spread out wide as he leaned back against the bulkhead, staring off into nothing. He gave a small smile when Jazz keyed his way in, both of them having the keycodes to each other's door locks for vorn. "One cube o' energon, comin' up."

Prowl accepted the cube with a small smile of his own. "Has news of my incident set a new gossip speed record?"

"Nah, they're jus' worried about ya." Prowl was uncomfortable with anything private becoming overtly public. He maintained his professional image to a careful set of guidelines and details, knowing that his function also existed as a focal point for the mechs underneath him to take strength in. "Ironhide wants t' take ya on in the armory though. I mighta told him ya'd hand him his aft, so yer goin' to need to deliver now."

"Your mouth gets you, and now me, into trouble, Jazz. How many times have I said so?" Prowl was shaking his head, smiling.

"Maybe once or twice." Jazz flipped Prowl's desk chair and straddled the back of it, leaning his arms across the low backrest and resting his chin on his forearms.

"An orn." Prowl deadpanned. "If we're going to be doing sharpshooting, I have no doubt I can 'hand him his aft,' as you eloquently put it. However, if we're talking obliteration of targets…"

"That is sharpshootin' for Ironhide!"

"Precisely." Prowl studied Jazz. "I think we'll have to evaluate your own sharpshooting as well. It's been a while since you've been range qualified, hasn't it?"

"Me? I was qual'd back … well, back before we go' on the Ark." Jazz suddenly realized it had been quite a while. "You did it, remember?"

"Over 4 million years ago. Excellent. Do you miss when you swat at flies?"

"Hey! Stasis don' count!" Jazz smiled, relieved to see Prowl relaxing and enjoying himself. Prowl chuckled and swirled his energon before taking a sip.

"Did you want to talk about the Pentagon's mission request?" Prowl was looking at Jazz, all traces of earlier stubbornness in the medbay gone.

Jazz however stiffened, sitting up straight. "Nah. I'm good. I take back wantin' any of your help. You need t' rest. No sense wastin' your circuits on some simple plans n' such." Jazz's words came out more bitterly than he intended

Prowl frowned. "Jazz?"

Jazz sighed, letting his arms fall forwards over the back of the chair, hanging loosely and dangling his energon cube. "I shouldn' have had you workin' on those estimates before hand. Stupid o' me."

Prowl leaned forward, touching Jazz's black hand briefly. "Jazz, that's not why this happened."

"Do we know that? For sure?" At Prowl's silence, Jazz sighed again. "It jus' was stupid of me. I don' want t' see ya hurt at all. I shoulda listen'd to Ratch and actually let ya rest."

"You are a vicious slave driver, Jazz, in the same league as Megatron. I cower under your forced and cruel workload." Despite himself, Jazz smirked. "Jazz, that data was simple. It was more your attempts to keep me entertained and not bored out of my processor than anything else."

Jazz's smirk grew into a full smile, and he looked back up into Prowl's faceplates. "Ya know me so well."

"Because I would do the same for you. And before you ask, yes. I recharged fully each night cycle and you saw me drink my energon both days." Prowl smiled back at Jazz.

Jazz didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Ratch'll find out what's wrong, Prowl. He will."

Prowl leaned back against the bulkhead again. "I know. If anyone can, he will. I am not looking forward to letting him and Wheeljack loose in my code though."

"I'll walk ya to the medbay in the mornin'?"

"I'd like that. Thank you."

* * *

Ratchet was waiting for Prowl the next morning cycle with his equipment already set up. Wheeljack had rolled in his own cart of monitors, setting up next to Ratchet on the other side of the berth. They needed to start sorting through Prowl's code in descending order of systems importance in order to give both Prowl and his joined spark and processor firewalls a chance to get used to their medical invasion. Even going slowly, and even only isolating one system at a time, the data they would be searching through was enormous. Wheeljack's unit was a backup device, designed to catch any stray computations from Ratchet's monitors or deviations in the code after they scanned it.

Prowl, for his part, would spend most of the morning in light stasis. He couldn't be entirely offline, but he would be in twilight. The data jack would feed out his cervical collum access, and first into Ratchet's device, then over to Wheeljack's.

Jazz left him shortly after Ratchet began ignoring him, which was instantaneously, pausing just long enough to catch Prowl's optics and give him a small, reassuring smile before heading to his office. He needed to put the finishing touches on the recon team proposal he was sending to the Pentagon. The military had put together a Joint Operations team of Army and Navy Special Forces, designed to track down and hunt rouge operators behind enemy lines. Jazz supposed this qualified.

Jazz had already picked Bumblebee to lead the mission, and was leaning towards adding Trailbreaker. Cliffjumper was out, but Brawn and Windcharger would be good additions. Brawn was equally adept at blowing things up as Wheeljack, though with Brawn, you knew when and where the explosion would occur. Windcharger still had issues with over expending his energy reserves in bursts, but this mission seemed like a good one for his expanding endurance abilities. Skyfire would shuttle them over there and take part in the surveillance as well. Jazz didn't include Mirage. This mission would be lengthy, covert, filthy and not nearly where Mirage was best utilized. This was more a mission for Hound's talents than Mirage's but he didn't want to split the two up so soon after Mirage's return. Trailbreaker would do equally well.

Jazz keyed up his proposed team and sent it to Prime for review. Prime approved, but suggested adding Beachcomber as well. Jazz saw no reason not to, adding him on to the list and then called Bumblebee to his office.

Bumblebee was intrigued by the mission, eagerly diving into the mission brief pad and looking over the combined intel from Mirage, the Army, and Jazz and Prowl's own analysis. They discussed the best ways to integrate with the humans, based on their experiences thus far. Bumblebee was chosen for both his abilities in the field as well as his natural ability to get along well with most humans. Jazz made sure to let him know that. Bumblebee left mid cycle, promising to return the next morning with a mission brief outline. They would then gather the rest of the mechs and 'Bee would brief the team on their mission. Jazz keyed back to Prime a short note that 'Bee was hard at work setting everything up, then shut down his terminal for the day.

Smirking, he activated his internal comm.

* * *

Prowl was in a grumpy mood when Jazz collected him from the medbay. Ratchet wasn't any better and Wheeljack was nowhere to be seen. That wasn't a good sign. Wheeljack stayed around through most of Ratchet's fits, only leaving when expressly thrown out by Ratchet or by realizing his naturally good mood was steadily plummeting due to verbal abuse.

"How'd it go?" Jazz tentatively asked.

"I do not like Ratchet's sedatives. I've had enough in my systems for the past orn to last a lifetime." Prowl frowned, stalking down the hallway towards his quarters. "I made him take me off of them."

"Ya must've been bored." Jazz knew how bored Prowl could get with joors of nothing to occupy his processor.

"Actually no. The two of them kept a running commentary on each line of code."

Jazz arched his optic ridges. Though a mech's code was highly personal, revealing most of the details of their very selves, it was also just that – a code. It was key coded to the mech's quantum processor, understood in terms only allowed by the mainframe of the mech and to those he gave permission to. Jazz didn't think Prowl had allowed Wheeljack or Ratchet into his permissions. "Were they comparing the mathematical properties of each string?"

"Apparently the medical readouts allow them to see the depth of certain code segments." Jazz didn't fully understand, but Prowl wouldn't elaborate.

"Well, it sounds like yer wound up a bit there, Prowler." They had stopped in front of Prowl's quarters and Jazz quickly placed his palm over the keypad, covering it from Prowl.

Prowl turned to Jazz, suspicious. "What are you up to, Jazz?"

"Well, seein' as how ya pointed out to me that my qual's were quite out of date, it seemed only right that I fix that right away. I've got an image t' maintain, as an officer an' all."

"I am off duty, Jazz. I can't do your qualification."

"O' course not. Ironhide's doin' it. I'm meeting him in the armory in a joor." Jazz smirked at Prowl.

"You're meeting Ironhide in the armory?" Jazz nodded. "I suppose you want me to come with you?"

"I know you love shootin' Prowl. C'mon, it'll relax ya." Jazz smiled as Prowl sighed, turning away from his quarters and heading towards the armory.

"If it looks like Ironhide is winning, you need to stage an intervention."

"An intervention?" Jazz feigned being scandalized. "Prowler… are you implyin' what I believe ya to be?"

"Not at all. You must merely create a diversion so I can ensure my triumph." Prowl smirked at Jazz.

"You Decepticon, you."

* * *

Jazz qualified with no problems, despite the unsubtle teasing and light jeering from Prowl. He did struggle a bit with the furthest ranged target though those weren't even on the qual card. Prowl took great delight in Jazz's squinting, immediately recommending Jazz for an optic exam with Ratchet. Ironhide cheekily joined in, commenting on how his optic lines were the first that needed to be replaced when he began 'getting old.'

"Are you still gettin' old, 'Hide, or are ya just plain old now?" Jazz asked.

"I'll show you old." Ironhide reset the targets. "Are we all ready for this? Prowl?"

Prowl nodded, moving to stand in the shielded firing cage next to Jazz and picked up his preloaded pulse rifle. He had opted not to use his acid pellet rifle, declaring the pulse rifle an equivalent standard that they could all be measured against.

"On the count of three," Ironhide began. "One –"

"It's accuracy, not speed, Ironhide." Prowl interjected.

"Speed's more fun." With that, Ironhide unloaded.

The mechs spent nearly a joor happily shooting away at the targets, Jazz and Prowl both taking out an equal number of the light-guided pop-ups. Ironhide seemed to enjoy mass assault as well as speed, preferring to fire a huge amount of pulses per target, despite it offlining after just two or three. Jazz fought back when Prowl snagged a target from his firing lane, shooting back at one just before Prowl did. They traded firing shots at each other's targets for a bit before Jazz went back to his own, suddenly massing, light targets.

Jazz was still picking away at his own lane when he noticed the other two had stopped firing. Prowl's targets had stopped massing down the lane, still in their pause, though it was clear he hadn't been firing for half a breem. Ironhide had paused his as well, though he was clearly the victor against the light guided targets.

Ironhide's voice broke Jazz's happy mood. "Jazz?" His voice was worried, confused.

Jazz quickly dashed out of his firing cage and saw Ironhide peering into Prowl's, worry etched over his features. Cold dread sank in Jazz's tanks. "What's goin' on?"

Ironhide moved to the side. "I can't see."

Prowl was hunched down, doorwings held straight back and up, hovering over something on the ground.

"Prowler?" Jazz slowed walked into the firing cage, irrationally fearful of setting off another seizure by touching his friend. "Ya alright?" He came up alongside Prowl, peering over his shoulder. "Prowl! What'r ya doin! Get back!" Jazz called the last over his shoulder to Ironhide, dropping beside Prowl and attempting to wrestle away the pulse rifle from Prowl. He had stripped it and rigged the firing chamber to a quick fuse overload. It was a trick taught to all mechs early on, a way to turn their rifles into grenades.

Prowl wouldn't let go. As Jazz struggled to pry the rifle from his tightened grip, his armor brushed against the black and white's frame. Prowl's systems were super heated, venting through the armor and beginning to whine. Jazz sniffed, smelling the unmistakable odor of burning oil and superheated metals. "Call Ratchet! Now!" Jazz called back to Ironhide.

Prowl hadn't acknowledged Jazz's presence, just like before. His optics were dazed, unfocused. He clutched the rapidly overloading rifle to his chest, refusing to let it go despite Jazz's attempts to wrestle it away. Prowl just used his larger size to curl more around the rifle.

Jazz only had moments left before the rifle blew. "M'sorry, Prowl," he said just before he leaned back and punched his friend hard in the side of the helm, trying to knock his processor into shorting.

Prowl turned dazed optics towards him. "Jazz?"

"Prowl! Let go!"

Prowl finally looked down at his hands, seeing the clutched and whining pulse rifle about to overload. Jazz swung his arm around Prowl's neck, dragging his friend backwards and mostly away from the rifle just as it initiated its piercing explosion.

* * *

Jazz onlined in the medbay, First Aid peering down into his faceplates. "Do you remember what happened?"

Jazz surged upwards, frantically looking around. "Prowl! Is he alrigh'? Where is he?"

First Aid pushed him back down to the berth none to gently. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Careful 'Aid. You're starting to sound like Ratchet." Wheeljack's voice floated across the room as the mechanic emerged from the surgical suite in the back.

"Where's Prowl, Wheeljack?" Jazz pushed against First Aid's attempts to bring him back down to the berth.

"Ratchet's got him back there," Wheeljack indicated back to the surgical suite. "You saved his CPU and processor from getting fried, but he's got some bad burns to his hands and thighs."

Jazz stilled, staring open mouthed at Wheeljack. "Is he… alriight? He was burnin' up, 'Jack. He wasn' himself."

First Aid finally pushed Jazz back down flat on the berth. "Stay," He ordered.

Wheeljack came up alongside Jazz, looking down at the Saboteur. "It's the same thing that happened yesterday. It's the same problem and we still can't isolate it."

"But… yesterday he collapsed… Today…" Jazz trailed off, confused and scared.

"The energy spikes are crossing all his systems. That's why it's having such varied effects. The only commonality is his systems running at super high speeds whenever the spike kicks in. By that time though, his neural net is compromised, and he's not thinking clearly."

Jazz exhaled hard, mouth still open in shock. "Whadda we do?"

Wheeljack's answer was not helpful. "At the moment… fix his burns and wait till he onlines. We can't do anything until we locate the source of these spikes." His vocal fins flashed, slowly, sadly.

The medbay doors open then, Prime rushing into the room. He spotted Jazz awake on the berth instantly, still fussing with First Aid. He made for them immediately. "Jazz. How are you? Ironhide told me what happened."

"Prime, I'm alright. I'm fine, really."

First Aid spoke up. "You hit your helm so hard you cracked the base. I've welded it shut, but your processor took a tumble. You might have jolted some data."

Prime looked from First Aid down to Jazz. "Rest, Jazz. You need it." He turned to Wheeljack, asking after his 2IC. Wheeljack launched into the whole explanation again, but Jazz tuned them out, laying back on his helm and offlining his visor.

What was happening to his friend?

* * *

Prowl stayed overnight in the medbay. His hands needed to both be replaced, most of the surface area of each having been burned off. His upper thighs were also scorched, having absorbed the secondary impact of the blast off his hands. The armor needed to be removed, restrengthened and remolded, then reattached.

Jazz was released early in the night cycle. First Aid ran a simple defrag program making extra sure that Jazz hadn't jumbled his CPU too much. He walked back to his quarters in a daze, replaying the scene in his head over and over, trying to figure out what he should have done better, faster, to help Prowl.

Recharge was impossible. Jazz couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the depths of his tanks that Prowl wouldn't be there when he woke up from recharge. It was ridiculous. First Aid had assured him Prowl wasn't in any life threatening danger. Still, Jazz's rebellious processor refused to believe it. He couldn't shake the thought that Prowl was in that surgical suite, the same one he'd been in before, when he was dead. Clinically dead. Drained of fluid, spark stopped.

Jazz knew he was being ridiculous. Prowl was fine. He was going to be fine.

* * *

Bumblebee was promptly on time at Jazz's office the next morning with his mission brief. Jazz was not on time, having stopped briefly at the medbay for a status update only to be chased away by a tired and cranky Ratchet. Bumblebee's brief was excellent, encompassing the roles and responsibilities of each mech and keying each one individually to specific mission objectives. Jazz was quite impressed, and made sure to let the minibot know. 'Bee was pleased with the praise. He had worked hard on the brief, studying both Jazz and Prowl's analysis to frame his mission objectives. He hung around, fidgeting nervously after Jazz turned to this computer terminal. "Somethin' on your processor, 'Bee?"

"We heard what happened with Prowl yesterday…" Bee trailed off as Jazz sighed, not looking at the minibot. "Is he okay?"

Jazz was starting to hate that question. He asked it a hundred times a joor himself, bothered First Aid, Wheeljack and Ratchet with it, hoped for it to be true. He wasn't ready to be the one to tell everyone that Prowl was okay though. He didn't know it in his spark anymore.

"Ratch's workin' hard on him, 'Bee. Ratch'll fix him."

Bee smiled, nodding. "Ratchet is the best there is."

Jazz nodded back to the minibot. "Yes. He is." Jazz motioned for the door. "Go assemble yer team. We'll brief back here in two joors."

Bumblebee nodded, scooting out of Jazz's office just in time to miss seeing Jazz sink his helm down into his hands.

Wheeljack and Ratchet pressed forward with their code analysis of Prowl, keeping him in twilight stasis as First Aid reapplied his repaired leg armor. Though they went through several more systems, working well into the second half of the cycle, they were no more closer to finding any answers than they were in the beginning. They only thing they did find was short tempers all around.

Ratchet was less than exceedingly gentle when he attached Prowl's hands, having grown quite tired of the tactician's fidgeting and protesting during his code analysis. Prowl was still uncomfortable with having his code ran through in its entirety. He wasn't even that open with Jazz, his closest friend.

When Jazz walked into the medbay that afternoon, Ratchet was nowhere to be found. Prowl was sitting on his berth, frowning heavily at his new left hand.

"Hey, Prowl." Jazz stood next to Prowl's berth, trying to catch his friend's optics.

Prowl sighed, long and heavy. "Jazz, I am not in a pleasant mood for company today."

Jazz nodded, swallowing. "I'll walk ya to yer quarters?"

Prowl nodded, once. They walked out of the med bay in tense silence, Prowl flexing and unflexing his left hand again and again.

Jazz keyed in Prowl's door code, letting Prowl walk in and lay down gingerly on his berth. Jazz hovered in the doorway, not certain he was welcome in. Prowl made no move to acknowledge his presence, instead offlining his optics once he was laid out flat. His whole frame radiated tense embarrassment, hostile and uncomfortable. Jazz sighed and turned to leave. He went straight back to the medbay, intent on speaking with Ratchet. When he arrived, he was surprised to see Sunstreaker in Ratchet's office, the two of them each with an energon cube. Sunstreaker looked as pristine as ever, though Ratchet looked as if he needed three more cubes.

Ratchet was not overly friendly to Jazz. "What do you want now?"

Jazz didn't waste any time, didn't go into any preamble. "Is there anythin' I can do? To help?"

Ratchet glared at Jazz. "If there was, Jazz, don't you think I'd have told you by now?"

Jazz frowned. He hated feeling helpless. He hated not being able to do something, anything to help the situation. He hated that it was Prowl hurting. He wished it were him instead.

"Both of you get out of my office. I've got a ton of work to do, and none of it involves either of you." Jazz and Sunstreaker left without protest.

* * *

Jazz hadn't made it to the Rec Room that evening. He couldn't take the questions, couldn't take the looks from the mechs. All he wanted to do was go to Prowl's quarters, sit with his friend, watch him recharge, laugh with him, listen to music, talk… any one of the things they did together that would assure him that all was right with the world, that the ground wasn't about to open up underneath his feet.

Prowl however had not contacted him since Jazz had left his quarters. Jazz hoped he was deep in recharge, resting comfortably. Jazz certainly wasn't. He moped around his quarters, straightening up already straight data pads, dusting clean shelves, and finally just laying fitfully on his berth.

He had music on, a low, quiet classical piece that was actually one of Prowl's favorites, hoping that the melodies would lull him into a more relaxed state. Jazz almost didn't hear the noise when it first began, softly scratching at his door. He turned off the music when he thought he heard it again, trying to key into the scratching sounds. When it came again, he jumped up and opened his door to investigate.

Prowl was leaning heavily against his doorframe, nearly bent over double at the waist. His engines were screaming, telltale smells of burning oil and fluids hitting Jazz full in the faceplates. He was shaking, frame vibrating violently.

"Prowl!" Jazz reached out to grab Prowl, to steady him, pinging a frantic line to Ratchet's comm. Prowl's frame was on fire, his armor hot to the touch. It was then that he noticed Prowl's hand. Prowl had roughly shaved the tips of his fingers off of his left hand, shortening their length by a half inch each. Energon oozed out of the broken capillaries and weblets of the digits. "Prowl! What did ya do?" Jazz gripped Prowl's left hand in his own, bringing it up to look at the damage.

"Jazz…" Prowl's voice was hollow, shaky, filled with static. "My hand… it was too long. Longer than the other one… had to make them even." Prowl lost his footing, collapsing fully into Jazz's arm, metal armor scorching Jazz's own. He hissed in pain but helped to steady Prowl, pulling him in tighter to his shoulder.

"Jazz!" Prowl suddenly cried out, clearer than his last words. "It's happening again! Help me! Please…" Prowl began shaking again, uncontrollably. "Jazz!"

Sunstreaker and Ratchet came barreling down the hallway then, each running full tilt. Sunstreaker, who hadn't seen one of Prowl's attacks, frowned in confusion and let his mouth drop open in surprise. Ratchet swore, grabbing at Prowl's right hand and throwing his arm behind his own neck collum, tearing Prowl away from his tightly held clutch at Jazz. "Help me, Sunny!"

Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl's left hand, optics widening in shock when he noticed the damage. He slung Prowl's arm over his own neck as well, and together the two of them took off again, dragging Prowl between them to the medbay as Jazz raced along behind. "What happened?" Ratchet called back.

"I don' know! He just showed up 't m' door like that!" Jazz was watching Prowl's helm flail around, neck gears clenching and unclenching.

Wheeljack met them drowsily at the medbay doors. "Get him on the berth, now! I need fluids!" Sunstreaker hefted Prowl onto the nearest berth, medical readouts coming online as soon as his body hit the platform. Wheeljack came rushing back with six bags of fluids, two each of oil, energon and coolant. Ratchet quickly spiked the bags, flushing the lines and letting the beginnings squirt onto the floor before jabbing the cord spikes into Prowl's central arterial descending line, leading straight to his tanks and distribution systems.

"Get me the sedatives! Lots!" Wheeljack raced back, pawing through the medical storage cabinets and shelves in the rear of the medbay. Sunstreaker stayed, taking each spiked bag and attaching it to the hanging trestle above the berth despite Ratchet's shocked glare. Wheeljack found the sedatives, racing back to the berth with five bags. Ratchet had already prepped Prowl's upper arm line, clamping the flow to stick the spike in. Wheeljack spiked the bag, repeating Ratchet's flushing of the line before passing the sedative to the CMO.

It took three full bags of sedatives set to the highest macrodrip to bring Prowl's systems down from their racing speeds. Sunstreaker collected the used and empty bags, helping to hold the new fluid and sedative bags while they spiked and flushed, Prowl racing through multiples of each. Jazz stood apart near the foot of the berth, never taking his optics from Prowl. When Prowl was finally stable, finally back within the normal range, Ratchet sighed and stepped back heavily. Wheeljack and Sunstreaker both looked in shock, each staring down at Prowl's now-still form on the berth. Ratchet finally caught sight of Prowl's disfigured left hand, having been caught up with the essential life saving functions required, and missing the damaged appendage. He swore, violently.

"He said it was too long. Said it was longer than the other one. Tried t' make 'em even." Jazz finally spoke, vocalizer heavy and backed with white noise.

The shock on Ratchet's face said more then Jazz needed or wanted to know. Ratchet had no idea what was happening to their 2IC. Wheeljack's vocal fins flashed though he didn't say anything. Sunstreaker glanced around, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Jazz couldn't blame him.

Ratchet looked back down at the black and white tactician, shaking his helm.

Jazz stayed with Prowl for the rest of the night cycle, sitting up next to his berth in one of Ratchet's borrowed office chairs. Sunstreaker left shortly after Prowl was stable, Ratchet and Wheeljack retreating to Ratchet's office for discussions and arguing. Jazz never took his visor off of Prowl.

Several joors later, after Ratchet and Wheeljack had left to return to their own berths, Prowl stirred, coming out of the sedatives much too early than should have been reasonable. Jazz was almost ready to call for Ratchet again, concerned that Prowl was going to have another episode when Prowl's optics onlined and he looked right at Jazz.

"Jazz?" Prowl's voice was small, confused, and still heavy with the sedatives.

"I'm here, Prowl. I'm righ' here." Jazz leaned forward, scooting his chair right up next to the berth.

Prowl reached his hand out blindly, feeling for Jazz's own. "What happened?"

Jazz took Prowl's hand in both of his, squeezing it tight and rubbing small circles on the back of his palm. "Ya had another incident. But ya came t' me, we caught it early this time." Jazz decided to ignore telling Prowl about the damage he'd done to his other hand.

Prowl whimpered, the sound sending terrified shocks of lancing cold pain straight to pierce Jazz's spark. "Don't leave me, Jazz," Prowl whispered. "Please don't leave me."

Jazz stood, knocking his chair backwards with the force and suddenness of his rise. He gripped Prowl's hand tight to his chest with one hand, the other coming up to smooth against Prowl's faceplates. "I'll never leave you, Prowl. Never. I promise." His words were hard, full of conviction. Jazz poured every vorn of love he'd felt for the tactician into his vocalizer, until it crackled under the choking stain of Jazz's emotions. His visor flashed brightly.

Prowl turned his cheekarch into Jazz's palm, sighing. "Don't leave me, Jazz," Prowl whispered again.

Jazz could barely speak, could barely force the words out through his grinding gears and static filled vocalizer. "I will never leave you, Prowl. I will never leave you."

Prowl blinked blearily up at Jazz once more before his optics flickered and he fell back into recharge.


	6. Chapter 6

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 6

* * *

Jazz wasn't surprised to receive the summons to Prime's office the next morning.

He dragged himself, well low on recharge and on energon after spending the entire night cycle awake by Prowl's berth in the medbay, up to the Command Deck. Prime was waiting for him outside his office, talking quietly with Bluestreak on comms.

Prime didn't hide his intent appraisal of Jazz's appearance. Jazz was almost too tired to care, but straightened a bit under Prime's scrutiny. Prime motioned for Jazz to precede him into his office, moving to stand near the back wallbank of computer screens and terminal access junctions. Jazz stood, uncomfortably, in the middle of the office.

"How are you, Jazz?"

Jazz shifted his weight across his feet, back and forth. He was, in truth, terrible. He was exhausted, frantic with worry, hurting with every step and breath. Jazz spent the rest of the night cycle after Prowl's pleading, painful whispers holding his hand and rubbing little circles into his palms, over his fingers, and up to his wrist joint. Jazz hoped he had provided some small measure of comfort to Prowl, deep in his recharge, but knew that he also needed that physical touch, that physical reminder that Prowl was there with him.

"I've been better, Prime," Jazz said finally, softly.

"I received Ratchet's report this morning on what happened. How is Prowl?"

"Restin'." Jazz had left with Prowl still deep in recharge, held there by the copious amounts off Ratchet's sedatives. "Wheeljack and Ratchet are goin' forward with analyzin' his code. They still hope there's a slip somewhere in there."

Prime nodded, still regarding Jazz intently. "Ratchet has been working diligently on this. I have every confidence in his and Wheeljack's abilities to find the source of this problem."

Jazz nodded, looking down. "I know. I know he's workin' hard. Still… It's still…" Jazz trailed off, looking to the side bulkhead of Prime's office, avoiding his gaze.

"Bumblebee is set to leave next cycle?" Prime stepped forward, trying to bring Jazz back to focus on his duties, on the Ark, on the other mechs that still needed and depended on Jazz.

"Yeah. His team's all set. Skyfire launches with 'em at dawn."

"I'd like you to liaison with Admiral Onge at the Pentagon. He is coordinating the Autobot-Department of Defense Operations, including this one. Our team will be operating under their commands and their jurisdiction. I want to make sure that we have good communication with their leadership." Prime had moved closer to Jazz, now standing in front of his SpecOps officer.

"O' course, Prime. I'll reach out t' him today."

"Thank you." Prime paused. "Do you have the signals logs analyzed for the last five orn?"

Jazz winced. The signals logs were a part of his duties, an extension of his SpecOps section that he picked up from the humans. It was a form of counterintelligence, a way to hone the Decepticons in on false signals, sensor ghosts and random spikes of data. They had proved very successful early on, though now that the Decepticons were wiser to the tactic, it only worked less than half as well. Jazz had been hoping to try to implement some new signal paradigms, different oscillating strengths, perhaps even launch a few satellites to truly confuse the 'Cons. With everything that had happened though, he had entirely forgotten it. "No, Prime. Not yet."

"While Prowl is off duty, I need you to also prepare and distribute the duty rosters to the squad leaders."

"O' course."

"I also need to see your report on your sector's energon usage this vorn."

Jazz smiled faintly. "I have that for ya. I'll send it right up."

Prime nodded. "Thank you, Jazz." He stepped directly in front of Jazz, capturing his optics through his visor. "I understand that this is a very difficult time for you, Jazz. It is for all of us. However, the last thing Prowl would want is for you to lose yourself in your worry and fear."

Jazz's vents hitched as he took in Prime's words. How did Prime always, always know what to say? "I know, Prime. I'm tryin'. I am."

"I am not unaware of your feelings, Jazz." Jazz sucked in his breath sharply, vents cycling, looking down, sideways, anywhere but at Prime. Prime continued, his voice softer, gentler, seeing Jazz's reaction. "Idleness is your biggest enemy, Jazz. It always has been. Lean on your friends right now. Let them share your burden."

Jazz looked back into his leader's optics, visor overbright and pulsing. "Optimus…"

"I am here for you as well, Jazz. Always."

* * *

Prowl was released to his quarters later that cycle. Jazz wasn't there to walk with him, too buried in work and guilt from talking with Prime earlier. He threw himself into his duties, burning through his and Prowl's backlog, forcing the pain and worry away with multiple projects. He comm'd the medbay near the end of his shift, asking Ratchet if Prowl was set to be released, only to be told the cranky doorwinger was already in his quarters, where he was to stay.

Swearing, Jazz left his office, feeling guilty all over again for not being there when Prowl was released. He walked quickly to Prowl's quarters, but didn't receive any response to his repeated knocks. Jazz didn't know if Prowl was ignoring him or not though Prowl had been known to push all others, even Jazz, away when he was feeling especially vulnerable. Jazz had seen it once before when Praxus, already destroyed and occupied by the Decepticons, was razed and destroyed by the Autobots in an attempt to drive out the Decepticon forces.

After nearly a breem of debating with himself in the corridor, Jazz entered Prowl's code and slipped into his dark quarters. To his relief, Prowl was deep in recharge on his berth, laid out flat on his backplating, optics dark and quiet. Jazz slowly walked to the side of the berth, gazing down at his friend in silence. Jazz noticed the medical monitoring bracelet on Prowl's wrist, pulsing softly. He also saw the damage to Prowl's left hand, unrepaired but wrapped in static bandaging.

Jazz looked around Prowl's small quarters, clean and ordered of clutter and personal items. He smiled when he saw the small blue rosebush next to Prowl's desk. Prowl had said he was going to nurture it and figure out a way to keep it alive. Moving closer, Jazz saw Prowl had removed the stasis bulb from the roots and transferred the bush to a spare, enclosed wheel well. By the size, Jazz guessed it had to be one of Prime's spares. There was a small light attached to the desktop surface, suspended in such a way as to cast direct light onto the shrub when turned on.

"I did that this afternoon."

Jazz jumped, startled entirely by Prowl's sudden statement. "Primus, Prowl! Ya scared my processor int' glitching!"

He turned to see Prowl propped up on one arm, watching Jazz with dim optics. "You are the one in my quarters. While I am recharging." He arched an optic ridge at Jazz.

Jazz stood, sheepishly. "I… I wanted to make sure ya were alrigh'." He crossed back to Prowl's berth, squatting down level with his optics. "How are ya?"

"Tired." Prowl laid down flat again. "Ratchet kept me under most of the cycle. They're still looking through my code." Prowl sighed. "I finally got out of there a few joors before the shift ended. I needed some fresh air."

Prowl waved his hand in the general direction of the bush. "Wheeljack brought me that wheel well and light from his lab. I told him I wanted to grow Fireflight's roses."

"Why did he have it in his lab?" Jazz spoke softly, seeing Prowl drift back slowly toward recharge.

Prowl turned his helm to look straight at Jazz, smiling back at his friend. "Apparently he stole it from Ratchet, who kept it as some sort of 'souvenir' for Prime to be 'reminded of.' There's a rather large dent in the back side."

Jazz looked back to the impromptu planter, chuckling. "I'm sure both Prime'n Ratch will appreciate it's new home."

Prowl smiled again, optics continuing to dim. "Ratchet's sedatives are still in me. I've felt tired all cycle."

"It's alrigh' Prowler. Get some recharge." Jazz stood, ready to leave Prowl to rest.

"Thank you for coming, Jazz." Prowl slipped his optics offline, letting himself fall back into recharge.

Jazz went back to his office, determined to keep working through his backlog. His conversation with Admiral Onge at the Pentagon had eaten up a chunk of his cycle earlier. It had been enlightening though. The Admiral was quite interested in the Autobots, their history and technological evolution. Jazz had thought to call Wheeljack in to the conversation, thinking that the mechanic and inventor would do better with the Admiral's ceaseless questions. Jazz managed as well as he could though, steering the conversation back to the upcoming mission. After the call, Jazz called 'Bee into his office, sharing the personnel files of the humans joining them with the VW. 'Bee was fascinated by the human participants, their files full of exotic sounding adventures and travels to the corners of Earth that 'Bee often dreamed of visiting.

Jazz pushed the minibot out after the seventh exclamation of surprise and recitation of details of the humans' previous history and missions. He chuckled at the minibot, certain that the upcoming mission between the two teams was going to be full of interesting stories. He had half a thought to comm Skyfire with a warning but thought better of it. 'Bee was in command, and though very enthusiastic about the humans, was tactically sound and easily capable of managing the team. Wasn't 'Bee picked in part for his agreeable nature towards the humans? Jazz shook his head, smiling.

Jazz lost track of time after that, finalizing the duty roster for the next three orns, having to retool his original plans after reviewing the requests for shift changes, rotations, and cycles off. He was interrupted by a series of chimes at his door, startling Jazz from his terminal. He straightened, signaling the door to open to reveal Hound and Mirage gazing at him from the corridor. "Everythin' alrigh'?" Jazz asked after neither mech said anything for several astroseconds.

Mirage sighed, walking into the office with Hound right at his shoulder. "We're worried about you, Jazz."

Jazz looked at the two mechs, his friends, and their worried faces. Jazz had been so wrapped up with Prowl that he had barely spoken two words to anyone aside from Ratchet or the medteam since Prowl's injuries two orns ago. His duties had suffered, his friendships had suffered. "I'm sorry. I haven' been very social lately. I've been worried abou' Prowl."

Hound spoke up. "We know, Jazz. We all are. And we know you guys need each other... especially right now. But…" Hound trailed off. "We're still worried about you."

"We've put together a small get together in the Rec Room tonight for 'Bee and his team. It's nothing much, but I know it would mean a lot to 'Bee if you showed up for a bit." Mirage tilted his helm to the side. "It will do you some good too, I think, to relax a bit."

Jazz checked his internal chronometer and started, surprised at the lateness in the cycle. "When does it start?"

"It's been going on a bit now. We came to collect you." Hound smiled.

Jazz laughed quietly, shutting down his terminal. "Alrigh' I'm comin'." Both mechs smiled. "Lead t' way!"

* * *

It wasn't Bluestreak's fault, not really.

The young gunner was simply worried about Prowl, the mech who had quite literally taken him under his doorwing after the destruction of his world. He hadn't heard much aside from the general Ark rumor mill and was desperate for information. Prowl's medical status was officer-level only information, so no matter how much Bluestreak would have bothered Ratchet, all he would have received was a wrench to the helm for his efforts. He had learned that the difficult way. Jazz had started to relax, started to loosen up in the Rec Room with the others. A small gathering had turned into a surprising number of mechs, most simply enjoying the light and festive atmosphere after the previous tense couple of orns.

The Protectobots were facing off with the Minibots on the game console, a racing type game on the screen. Cliffjumper, who had apparently beaten the Lambo twins in a game that was still being discussed and reenacted by the rest of the minibots, was a golden Lamborghini with red racing stripes and was facing off against Hot Spot who was, unsurprisingly, a fire truck. Inferno watched from behind them, cheering Hot Spot on loudly. Red Alert slipped in unnoticed, standing next to Inferno's loud and boisterous form and quietly commenting during the break that Cliffjumper's Lamborghini wasn't entirely accurate – it was missing a tree.

All the Aerialbots were there as well, Air Raid and Slingshot bickering with mock seriousness over their maneuver practice earlier that cycle. They were recreating their moves with their hands, arguing over the angle of some of their turns and adjusting each other's hands accordingly, getting frustrated, and smacking at each other's armor. Skydive was trying to talk to Silverbolt and Skyfire but kept getting dragged into his other brother's fighting. Fireflight was on the ground in the middle of them, flat on his back, wings spread, legs straight up in the air and stretched out. He was trying to unkink and straighten his knee joints, twisted during a particularly rough transformation landing. Silverbolt knew he was just one twitch away from tumbling backwards over his wingtips. He just knew it.

Mirage and Hound had joined Trailbreaker, Wheeljack and Tracks at one of the tables, laughing and chatting amiably together. Jazz watched the racing game for a while, bemused as to how the mechs who could be outside actually racing each other, not that regulations allowed for it, were so captivated by the video game version. Then again, Cliffjumper would never get to flaunt his golden red Lamborghini if that was the case. Cliffjumper made sure to whip his helm around and find one or both of the twins each time the game chirped, mechanical voice cheering loudly, "Cliffjumper wins!" as the custom created Lambo paraded across the screen.

All in all, it was fun and relaxing and Jazz was finally letting him self unwind. Prowl was recharging comfortably, safe and secure under Ratchet's watchful monitor. He was beginning to feel that everything would work out right, that everything would be all right. He was beginning to believe it.

It really wasn't Bluestreak's fault.

He made a beeline for Jazz as soon as the young gunner entered, happily chattering away over how glad and pleased he was to see Jazz out and at the Rec Room. That line of thought led Blue around his processor the ultimate reason why Jazz had been avoiding them, though not purposefully, of course: Prowl. Bluestreak had an endless amount of questions, most of which Jazz couldn't answer, but Bluestreak didn't let that stop him. He provided all manner of supposition, guesswork, conjecture and prophesy at Ratchet's healing abilities. Jazz's mood became gloomier and gloomier, not having wanted to think about Prowl and his injuries, his ongoing damages and his incidents. Most of the mechs hadn't heard the extent of the damage, didn't understand the problem. They only knew that Prowl was having recurring electrical issues, somehow impairing his neural net in some fashion.

Jazz was just about to call is a night, flee the Rec Room and head back to his office for more work when Sideswipe came to his rescue. Sideswipe effectively distracted Blue, changing the topic and keeping Blue sidelined. Jazz heard 'Bee talking loudly with Hound about the places on his human teammates military dossier file again, and Sideswipe quickly dragged Bluestreak over to hear more.

Jazz sighed, good mood broken. It really wasn't Bluestreak's fault, but Jazz wished that Blue had never spoken to him.

Sunstreaker sat down in the empty seat Blue had just left. "You look like you don't want any company."

Jazz tried to smile. "Is that why ya decided t' join me?"

"I don't want any company either."

The two mechs sat in silence for a joor, Sunstreaker occasionally glancing back to the door before Jazz stood and made to leave.

Sunstreaker watched him go, then left as well.

* * *

Jazz spent another fitful night tossing and turning, offlining for no more than a few brems in recharge at a time. He finally gave up a couple joors before dawn, heading down to the armory and kiting room to find 'Bee and the team before they left.

Skyfire was fully loaded and ready to go and enjoying some last minute conversations with Silverbolt prior to launch. 'Bee was performing last minute personal inspections on each mech, ensuring they all had fully charged weaponry and comms equipment. Brawn was bringing extra munitions and explosives components. Windcharger and Beachcomber were carrying the majority of the comms equipment in addition to some specific scanning and jamming tech that Jazz reserved for SpecOps missions. Trailbreaker was carrying the bulk of the heavy gear, including their energon rations, as was Skyfire. Skyfire also carried a few emergency medical kits though this mission wasn't a high-risk operation. For the most part it was supposed to be covert, unobtrusive, without direct contact with the Decepticons. Jazz fervently hoped it stayed that way.

Not for the first time, Jazz paused to reflect on how strong of a soldier 'Bee had become. The minibot was an incredible leader, an excellent interpersonal communicator. He didn't have the keen mind for tactics that Prowl had, or the forceful strength of the twins or Ironhide, but 'Bee was certain to be a future power player in their faction. Jazz just knew it. He watched the team load up into Skyfire with Silverbolt, wishing them well and sparing a few private words of encouragement and confidence for 'Bee. Skyfire lifted off just as the first rays of sunlight stretched across the desert floor, streaking off into the dusky dawn light.

Ratchet pinged Jazz a bit later, letting him know that Prowl wasn't going to undergo code analysis that morning. For an astrosecond, Jazz hoped that Ratchet had found the source of the spikes, the slip in Prowl's code he was looking for. Unfortunately, Ratchet wasn't as positive, saying that Prowl's sedative levels were still too high in his systems for accurate code analysis. Apparently they had to stop their work yesterday, as Prowl's systems returned to normal and the sedatives plunged his vitals down to near nothing. The code string became a meaningless jumble at that point, indecipherable and unreadable. Ratchet hoped to start again during the afternoon cycle, very unsubtly telling Jazz to collect the tactician and bring him to medbay at that time.

Jazz wasn't sure if Prowl would be awake or not but collected two cubes of energon from the Rec Room anyway, heading for his quarters. Prowl was still deep in recharge when Jazz keyed his way in but Jazz left the energon cube next to his berth, a data pad propped up in plain view with a message from Jazz relaying Ratchet's instructions and a quick summation of Cliffjumper's new Lambo racecar model on the video game. Prowl would greatly enjoy that bit of gossip.

* * *

Naturally, the mood was too good to last.

Red Alert's voice broke across the Ark intercom, battle net instantly onlining and pinging each mech as the alarm klaxon whined. "Decepticon signal detected inside the Ark. Intruder alert."

The mechs sprang into action, each reporting to their squad leader in their designated sector to begin the Ark-wide search. Prime and Ironhide coordinated with Red Alert who was sweeping the Ark to pinpoint the signal and the invading Decepticon. Jazz bolted out of his office just in time to see Inferno and Mirage, the only remaining members of his squad on the Ark, rushing towards him.

Ratchet pinged Jazz privately off the battle net. "Jazz, I've lost Prowl's med transmission. His bracelet isn't broadcasting."

Jazz froze. "What does that mean, Ratch? Can't ya locate his comm beacon?"

"I took all unnecessary functions offline. His spikes are destroying the systems they effect. I didn't want to have to rebuild more than I needed to." Ratchet paused, conferring with the mechs guarding the medbay. "The bracelet transmits all vitals on an alive mech when directly touching the armor at any point. It's powered by the mech's own kinetic energy. He's either not wearing it or-"

Jazz cut him off before Ratchet could finish his sentence. "Got it, Ratch." He motioned to this squad. "C'mon. Weapons free." Jazz clicked his pulse rifle, grabbed from his storage locker in his office to the highest setting.

Red Alert's voice cascaded across the battle net. "I cannot pinpoint the location of the Decepticon signal. It's fading in and out, but seems to be located near the habitation deck."

Sideswipe answered back. "Could this be Laserbeak? Are we looking for a mech or a cassette?"

"Unknown." Red Alert paused. "The signal strength, when it transmits, suggests a full sized mech."

Jazz led his squad down the hallway, heading for the officers quarters. "This is Jazz," he transmitted. "I'm movin' into the officers deck now." Mirage and Inferno crept up the opposite bulkhead, each providing cover overwatch as the other moved forward. Jazz led them down the hallway, moving quickly and silently to Prowl's quarters.

The door had been forced open.

When the Ark's intruder alert was initiated, Red Alert's security programs cut power to various auxiliary systems. Terminals went into lockdown, doors were powered down and critical areas of the Ark, including the medbay, the command deck and the armory, went into high-level security restricted access. All were precautions designed to keep intruders stuck where they were, and easily located. It also made them easy to track. The Autobots had mag handles to get out of the de-powered doors. Broken and forced open doors were hallmarks of intruders.

Jazz pinged a private comm to Ratchet and Prime. "Prowl's not in his quarters. We migh' have a hostage situation." Jazz listened as the two officers acknowledged his message, Inferno and Mirage's optics wide.

Prime's voice thundered across the battle net. "Autobots, keep your weapons on stun." Affirmations rang out across the net.

"Red, do ya have a location on the intruder?" Jazz had to keep focused. His adrenal energon was pumping through his frame, keeping his processor focused on hunting and destroying the intruder and on finding Prowl. He was single minded, thoughts dropping into a rhythmic order that he found only in battle, automatic functions and processes triggering to propel him forward and into the fight. Not that he needed it – he was ready to tear the Ark apart to find Prowl, alone and with his bare hands.

"The last signal burst looked like it was headed to the lower decks."

"We'll head around from the north side." Sideswipe's squad was on the move.

Gears' gruff voice broke through the battle net. "We're heading down the access shafts." The minibots were able to crawl through many of the Ark's internal systems, able to get places where the regular mechs couldn't reach. It was an incredible asset, found out entirely by accident when Sunstreaker had locked Huffer high up in the ventilation shaft in the Rec Room one cycle, only to have the minibot appear, furious, back in the Rec Room a joor later.

Jazz motioned for Mirage and Hound to follow him, moving at a quick pace down the hallway. "We're coming in from the main entrance."

"I've got a signal near the cargo hold." Red Alert's voice was tight and level. "He's managing to avoid the cameras."

Sideswipe, Jazz and Gears met in the corridor outside the cargo hold several breems later. Each of their squads had farmed out, covering the corridors and briefly searching the rooms along the way to the main area on the lower deck: the cargo hold. Jazz pinged Red Alert on the internal comm, the Autbots reverting to silent maneuvers and data burst pings. "Any new signals, Red?"

"Not- Hold. Yes, he's in the cargo bay. The signal is pretty weak now."

Jazz pinged Red privately. "Anyone with 'em?"

"Not that I can tell. There's a lot of interference around the signal. I don't fully understand it."

Jazz, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Inferno each wiggled their fingertips into the crack of the solid metal doors, struggling to pull them apart against the offline autonomic doorlock systems. Gears, Bluestreak and Mirage set up the front line fire response, covering the four 'bots working the door. The rest of the minibots and Sideswipe's squad flanked the hallway to either side of them, weapons ready. As they peeled the doors apart, storage crates and utility containers crashed down on top of them, hastily shoved there by whomever was hiding inside and trying to slow their progress. It also effectively blocked their entry.

Red Alert's voice cut across the battle net, frantic and worried. "I'm detecting an energy surge in the cargo bay! There's some sort of overload! Rear corner, right side!"

Jazz swore, grabbing at the nearest crate and throwing it down the hallway. Sunstreaker joined in, hurriedly trying to clear a path.

Sideswipe turned to Gears. "Gears! Transform!"

"What!"

Sunstreaker left Jazz, immediately following his brother's lead. Jazz caught on as well. "Do it! Now!" he ordered.

Gears dropped into his transformation, barely finished as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker hauled him up by the frame. Jazz had only an astrosecond to move out of the way before they hurled him through obstruction, crates flying apart and out of the way. Gears swore, transforming back before he was halfway through and crashing into the crates lining the second aisle of the bay. He was up and in his battle stance in a moment, the rest of the mechs hurriedly following him in to cover his entrance.

"All clear," Gears called, waving the rest of the 'bots in after Sideswipe and Sunstreaker barreled through the opening and flanking Gears. Jazz followed, taking the lead and hastily moving with the twins, Mirage, Bluestreak and Inferno single column down the main aisle in the cargo bay. The minibots circled around to the left.

They could hear the mechanical whine of the Decepticon's systems, feel the crackle of excess overload energy. The smell of burning oil wafted through the air, turning Jazz's tanks. Prowl was here, with the Decepticon. Prowl was in trouble.

Jazz's energon pounded in this lines, CPU focused on his advance, weapon held high and ready, finger half-squeezing the trigger in anticipation. They approached the end of the cargo bay aisle near the rear bulkhead, the twins pressed up against the opposite side of the aisle of crates, Bluestreak, Inferno and Mirage staying behind the Saboteur. Jazz pinged a silent count to the group, coordinating with Gears' squad.

As one, the two groups burst into the rear section of the cargo hold, weapons trained in the corner and ready to fire on the Decepticon intruder. Jazz's visor flashed, searching for Prowl. He didn't have to look far. There, pressed into the corner, frame seizing and laying on his side was Prowl. His systems were whining super hot, smoke billowing from his vents. His faceplate was pressed into the cargohold's floor, fingers scratching and clawing at the deck plating. One doorwing was twisted back, awkward and unnatural against his frame.

He was alone.

Jazz dropped down, backing up hurriedly towards Prowl and turning around to check his rifle against the rear and top of the cargo containers. Bluestreak and Sideswipe automatically followed suit as Jazz reached Prowl, trying frantically to help his friend.

Sunstreaker comm'd Red Alert. "Where's the 'Con now, Red?"

"The signal is coming from the corner. You should be right on top of him."

* * *

There wasn't any way to conceal Prowl's condition anymore. The entire Ark had seen the 2IC seizing out of control and smoking his internals. Bluestreak and Gears had tried to press on, intent on hunting the Decepticon that had damaged their 2IC but Sunstreaker and Jazz had called off the search. There was never an intruder. The 'intruder' was their own 2IC.

When Ratchet was notified of Prowl's condition he ran with First Aid down to the cargo bay as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe bodily carried the searing hot tactician up to the main deck to meet their gurney. Ratchet didn't wait to get back to the medbay, instead prepping the massive amounts of fluids Prowl needed back in his system in the corridor. Jazz, shockingly numb at the situation, hung back as the rest of the mechs watched in open-mouthed astonishment and horror.

Sideswipe finally regained order, bellowing for the lot of them to clear out. Sunstreaker started banging heads, pushing the mechs physically away from Ratchet and First Aid. Bluestreak looked as if he was about to fly apart, optics far too wide and unsteady. Sunstreaker didn't get physical with him, instead letting Sideswipe pull him away down the hallway.

Jazz watched it all from the doorarch he had pressed himself into. Prime met the medteam in the corridor just as Ratchet finished pumping the third bag of coolant into Prowl's systems and declaring him safe for transport the rest of the way to the medbay. Jazz watched the two medics wheel Prowl away, unable to move, unable to follow. He leaned his body in to the doorframe, pressing half his helm and visor against the slick metal, watching with one optic as they wheeled Prowl's mangled body away. Jazz was left alone in the corridor with Prime, also staring down the hallway after Ratchet, First Aid, and Prowl.

Wheeljack was waiting with the surgical suite prepped. Ratchet wheeled Prowl inside, shutting the door and the medteam inside the alcove to work on Prowl's new instability.

Prime made a personal visit to the Rec Room where most of the mechs had gathered. He called in Red Alert, leaving the Command Deck unattended save for Teletrann 1 for the first time in memory. Bluestreak was shaking on the couch as Sideswipe kneeled on the ground in front of the gunner, trying to reassure him as shakily as he could.

Prime tried to explain, as best as he could, the situation with Prowl. What they wanted though he couldn't give. He couldn't tell them that Prowl was being repaired. He couldn't tell them that he was going to get better. He couldn't tell them that it would be all right. Cliffjumper, naturally, was the one to demand to know why Prowl was pinging a Decepticon signal. Again, Prime couldn't give him an answer, but reassured them all that Prowl was not a Decepticon spy. Cliffjumper wasn't reassured. Decepticon signal codes couldn't be duplicated. Red Alert suggested extra patrols to ensure that the Decepticons didn't come searching for the stray Decepticon signal on their base. Prime agreed, putting Ironhide in charge with Cliffjumper for the patrols.

Jazz locked himself in his office, sinking down against the shuttered door as soon as it closed. His rifle fell from his hands, clattering to the ground. Finally, achingly, Jazz unclenched the knot in his chest, the tightness he had stilled from the moment Ratchet had comm'd him about Prowl's missing medical bracelet, thinking that he was in danger from the 'Cons.

Prowl wasn't in danger from the 'Cons, or from an intruder. He was in danger from himself.

Jazz hadn't let himself doubt Ratchet before. He hadn't let himself fear that there was an end to all this, an end that was ugly. He hadn't acknowledged the possibility that his friend was losing control.

Shaking, trembling, shock suffusing his entire frame, Jazz thought it all now. He sank his helm into his hands, vocalizer hissing with static and keening wails.

* * *

Ratchet comm'd Jazz in the middle of the night cycle. Jazz had spent the rest of the shift locked in his office. No one had disturbed him. Jazz was outside the Ark when Ratchet's comm came through, gazing up at the stars while sitting on the rocky outcropping of boulders just past the view of the Ark entrance. "Jazz, Prowl is asking for you. I'm putting him in stasis in 5 breems. He'd really like to see you before I do." Ratchet was sounding more and more haggard and harried each cycle, tearing his processor apart to find out what was happening to Prowl.

Jazz swallowed. "How is he, Ratch?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Jazz: It's bad."

Jazz shut his optics tightly, fighting against the tightness in his chest that wouldn't dissipate. "I'm comin'.'"

When Jazz arrived in the medbay, Ratchet was waiting to escort him into the surgical suite. Jazz's vents started cycling faster as he approached the surgical suite's doorway, remembering the scene he had seen before, the last time Prowl was inside this suite just after being attacked. Drained of fluids. Spark stopped. Dead.

Jazz tentatively stepped into the suite, Ratchet shutting the door quietly behind him. Prowl was strapped down to the berth, lines of fluids descending into his chest in a maze of colored tubules. Prowl's chestplates were removed, stacked on a cart in the corner and a static blanket covered his open and exposed chest cavity. There was a depression on his right side, a hole underneath the blanket where there should have been something.

"Prowl…" Jazz's whisper was too loud in the silent room.

Prowl's finger's twitched, the only sign he gave that he was even alive. Jazz crossed, hesitantly, to the berthside, terror at what he would find in every single step. Prowl was strapped down around his helm as well, belt tight across the crux of his chevron. Scared optics flicked to Jazz's visor as Jazz entered Prowl's field of vision. "Jazz…" Prowl vocalizer was scratchy, damaged.

Jazz's optics roamed over his immobilized form. Heavy sedatives, oil, coolant, and energon flowed downwards into Prowl. He stared at the depression in Prowl's chest again, right side, midaxillary, lower quadrant… "Prowl… Your fuel pump?"

"Destroyed." Prowl's voice was no louder than a whisper.

Jazz offlined his optics, feeling the tightness in his chest expand, threaten to take him over. He gasped, painfully, reaching for Prowl's strapped down hand, squeezing tightly, too tight.

"Jazz, I don't have much time. Ratchet is putting me into stasis. He wont wake me unless he can find out what's wrong."

Jazz flicked his optics back on, retracting his visor. His voice was too full of static. "He will. He will." If he said it enough, it had to be true.

"Jazz…" Prowl swallowed, never taking his optics from Jazz's own. "Jazz, if he doesn't find it, if he can't figure out what's causing this…" Prowl trailed off.

"No. No! No, Prowl!" Jazz shook his head violently, trying to wrench his hand from Prowl's clenching grasp.

"I cannot live like this. I can't. _I wont_. I'm out of control. Please, I'm begging you, Jazz. Please. If he can't find out what's causing this… Just let me go." Prowl voice, starting out so strong and full of conviction, ended up as a tiny whisper.

"Don' ask this o' me, Prowl. I'm not strong enough to do this." Jazz was gasping, struggling to breath, struggling to drag in enough air to keep his systems moving, keep them working. He was about to drop, about to fall to pieces at Prowl's berthside.

"You are, Jazz. You are strong. You'll go on without me." Jazz felt Prowl's hand squeeze his.

"Don' say that! Don' talk as if you're already gone!" His vocalizer shorted, whining with too much input, too much emotion.

Ratchet chose that moment to reenter the surgical suite with Wheeljack. "I need to put him under now, Jazz. I'm sorry. Prowl?" Prowl nodded, still staring into Jazz's optics.

"Jazz… please. Please."

Jazz stared into Prowl's optics, refusing to let go of his hand. He had so many things to say, too many words and vorns to know where to begin to tell Prowl everything he had kept inside for so long. He didn't have enough time, suddenly now at the end, when he had wasted so many vorns. Now, only needing a moment, a second, a breath, to choke out the words he needed to say, there wasn't any time. Instead he said nothing, never letting go of Prowl's optics as First Aid dragged him backwards out of the suite. Jazz kept his grip on Prowl's hands, sliding down to grip his fingers and only let go when physically dragged from his touch.

Prime was waiting for him in the main medbay.

* * *

Under Prime's orders, Jazz left the Ark that cycle. He didn't want to go, didn't want to leave the medbay even, but Prime forced him to get away, clear his CPU. Jazz was to go for a drive, anywhere safe, anywhere in their outer perimeter. Prime recommended the coastline.

Jazz tore down the open road, engine shrieking and gears flying. It was barely enough to cover his own screaming.

Jazz returned two full cycles later, dented and scratched. He had torn through the roadways, racing from the coastline to the mountains, again and again. No matter how fast he went, how close he took the dangerous mountain corners, how much he careened wildly from side to side, fishtailing down the highways, he couldn't outrun himself. Jazz went straight to the medbay. Ratchet didn't need to hear what Jazz wanted, merely escorted him back into the private surgical suite that had become Prowl's private berthing room.

Ratchet and Wheeljack had rebuilt and replaced Prowl's fuel pump, removing him from the medbay's artificial life support energon pump. An energon feeding line was inserted into his pump through his mouthplates and taped to his cheek next to the O2 line providing positive pressure ventilations to his air exchange vents. He was deep in stasis, only his spark still functioning inside his frame. All higher functions, including his autonomic life supporting activities, were suspended.

He was no longer strapped down, no longer immobilized to the berth. There was no need.

Jazz stood at the side of Prowl's berth, brushing his fingers across Prowl's arm, trailing down to his fingertips before lifting it into his hands. He squeezed Prowl's hand in his own, gasping at the never-ending pain he just couldn't shake from his chest.

"Ya should have asked Prime, Prowl," Jazz began with a whisper. "Ya should have asked Prime. He would have been strong enough for ya, strong enough to do what ya want." Jazz brought Prowl's cold fingers to his face, pressing the back of Prowl's hand into his cheek with a ragged sigh. "There too much ya don' know about me, too much I couldn' tell ya."

"Ya see, Prowl. I'm a coward. I really am. I'm not strong like ya are. I'm not what ya think I am." Static choked out his vocalizer. "I can't even tell you the things I need to, not even now."

"I'm also selfish, Prowl. I'm very selfish. I can't give ya what ya want. I can't terminate ya. I need ya here. I need ya here with me." Jazz turned Prowl's hand over, pressing a gentle kiss into the white palm.

"Yer m' whole world, Prowler. Yer everythin' that makes it bright. And yer wrong. I can't go on without ya. I'm sorry, Prowl… but I can't give up hope. I can't let you go. I just can't." Jazz laid Prowl's hand back down on the berth, gently, softly. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again, pain gripping him too strongly suddenly. Jazz turned and walked out on Prowl's silent form, spark-crushing pain enveloping his chest whole.

Prime saw Jazz reenter the base, unsurprised that he went straight to the medbay. He waited until Ratchet pinged him, letting him know that Jazz was out of Prowl's suite before requesting Jazz come to his office.

Jazz was sick and tried of the pitying looks, sideways glances and whispered words of the rest of the crew. Their optics followed him everywhere he went, tracking him down the hallways and corridors. Conversations stopped as soon as he came in range or the others saw him, which ever came first. It was no different on the Command Deck. Jazz finally snapped. "Whadda ya lookin' at!"

"Jazz." Prime's voice boomed across the Command Deck. "Please. Step inside." Prime didn't waste any time once Jazz was inside his office. "I'm sorry, Jazz," Prime began.

Jazz shifted uncomfortably. A cord of anger had been building within him, dangerously close to the surface. He was doing his best to not snap at Prime, but his control was thin, frayed.

Prime pressed forward. "This is not an easy time for you, and I hate to add to your troubles." Jazz stilled, glancing up at Prime. Prime sighed. "We've lost contact with the Bumblebee and the human's Special Operations team."

Jazz was sure, dead certain that there was a critical mass of sparkbreak that a spark could take before stilling and crashing to a halt. He wondered if it was prolonged, a long and laborious, painful extinguishment, smothering his consciousness with agony, or if he could recreate the force and impact of sudden sparkbreak with a high speed impact into a brick wall. "What happened, Prime?" Jazz was shocked to hear his voice, even and empty, betraying none of the silent screams inside his processor.

"The Pentagon doesn't know. I'm leaving for an Air Force airbase in a few joors where I'll be flying to the Pentagon to get more information." Prime put both his hands on Jazz's shoulders, squeezing tightly. "I am leaving Ironhide in command, Jazz. But I need you. I need you to be _here_, with us. We need you. I need you." Prime enunciated each word carefully, clearly, trying to impress upon Jazz how important he was to each Autobot on the Ark and to Prime.

Jazz nodded, numb. "O' course, Prime. O' course." He stepped back, out of Prime's grip. "Will that be all?"

Prime sighed. "Yes, Jazz. I'd like to see you and Ironhide in a joor."

Jazz nodded then turned and fled the Command Deck, retreating to his office in a dizzy daze. When had it all gone so wrong?

* * *

Jazz had finally fallen into recharge, two orns of emotional exhaustion and depleted energy reserves finally forcing a systems shutdown despite his processor's inability to quiet for the recharge initiation. He watched the imminent forced recharge warning indicators flash across his HUD, waiting for the blackness to engulf him.

Prime had left earlier for the Pentagon via the Air Force without any problems. Ironhide was more than willing to take on most of the duties of the Ark, loudly and quickly exclaiming that he had each duty Prime explained, glancing sidelong at Jazz's silent form in Prime's office worriedly. Jazz spent the rest of the cycle in his office, pulling every file, every data bit, every piece of intelligence he had for 'Bee's mission out of the databanks. He read through it, again and again, looking for something he had missed. Anything he had missed.  
He didn't find anything.

The tightness in his chest hadn't dissipated, hadn't left his spark. It was no longer crushing pain though, agonizing and terrible. It seemed to Jazz to be a vast pit of emptiness and rage, swallowing his emotions and thoughts wholly and completely. He watched the HUD tick down, feeling nothing.

* * *

Jazz woke fuzzily, rousing from deep recharge slowly, unsteadily, unsure of what had woken him.

He snapped to fully awake and alert status when his optics fell on Prowl, straddling his legs and panting heavily. "Prowl!" Jazz's vocalizer shorted, pure shock radiating throughout his frame.

Prowl's fans and vents were whirring. "Jazz…" His voice was low, scratchy from disuse. He cycled more breaths though his mouth. "Jazz…" Prowl scooted up Jazz's frame, now straddling his waist. Jazz started, feeling the weight and form of Prowl settle around and above him. Prowl's thighs squeezed his hipplates, one hand coming down to stroke Jazz's chest armor. "Jazz…."

"Prowl!" Jazz's processor lashed out randomly, alternating between exploding in a hailstorm of scorching fire and screeching to a crashing halt. He had dreamed, nearly every orn, exactly this: Prowl undulating above him and looking down at him with just that dim optic look in his gaze. Jazz moaned, low and breathy as Prowl's hand drifted down his chest armor. The other hand was low, behind his back, out of sight. Jazz's fans clicked on at their highest speed.

"What's… happening? Prowl?" Jazz struggled to think, to focus, gasping. His hands came up, pushing against Prowl's thighs, smooth armor encouraging his betraying hands to press down and slide up until they cupped Prowl's hips.

Prowl shifted, just so, causing Jazz to arch off the berth, gasping again. "You came to see me this cycle…"

"How do ya know that? You're…" Prowl's hand continued to stroke Jazz's armor, just over his spark. "Yer supposed to be in stasis! How… How'd ya get out the medbay?"

Prowl leaned back, rocking his hips into Jazz's pelvic armor, breathing loudly. Jazz threw his helm back, moaning low and loud, fingers leaving dents in Prowl's hips. "Prowl!" His voice was loud, needy. Jazz brought his hands forward, running the black palms over Prowl's white abdominal armor. Prowl moaned, gritting his denta and looking down at Jazz, growling possessively.

"I felt you… earlier this cycle… I felt you…" Prowl continued to speak, low and throaty, gasping between words as Jazz kept up his exploration of Prowl's armor. His hands flew, racing across Prowl's abdomen and up to his chest, fingers exploring transformation seams, headlights, squeezing and nipping at lines through the exposed armor seams. "I need you… Jazz…"

"Primus, Prowl," Jazz breathed. He tried to sit up, tried to bring his hands up to Prowl's helm but Prowl pushed him back down, hard. Jazz grunted as he was pushed down into the berth, Prowl leaning low over his chest, refusing to let up on his hold. Prowl ground his hips into Jazz's pelvic armor once more as he simultaneously licked his glossa in a long, slow line across Jazz's chest.

Jazz threw his helm back and screamed.

Prowl quickly brought his hand, the one that had been holding Jazz's chest down, up to clamp over his mouthplates, trying to muffle the sound. He was still breathing heavily out of his mouth, breaths ghosting over Jazz's armor. Jazz brought his hands up to grasp at Prowl's, moving it away from his mouth, their fingers tangled together. "Do ya have any idea how long I've dream'd of this?" His voice was shaky, unstable, white noise behind his words.

Prowl smiled slowly down at Jazz. "I've dreamt it too, Jazz…" his voice trailed off, his body undulating and rotating on Jazz. "I need you Jazz… I need to do this…"

Prowl tangled their fingers tighter, moving his hand until he was gripping both of Jazz's wrists in his one hand. Roughly, he brought them over and above Jazz's helm, pushing them into the berth painfully, leaning low over Jazz's faceplates. Jazz winced a bit at the pain, panting.

It was then that Jazz smelled the burning oil.

Confusion flashed across his face as Prowl tightened his legs and one-handed grip on Jazz painfully, immobilizing him beneath the doorwinger. From behind his back, Prowl brought out his concealed hand, clutching one of Ratchet's overlarge repair wrenches, one used on Prime or Skyfire. He raised the wrench high above his head.

Jazz's optics widened fearfully. "Prowl?"

"Jazz… Oh, Jazz…" Prowl smiled, and swung.

Pain exploded across Jazz's shoulder and left arm as Prowl slammed the wrench into his armor. Jazz screamed, bucking as hard as he could, trying to break free, to unbalance Prowl above him. Prowl continued to swing, continued to smash the wrench into Jazz's shoulder, chest and helm. Jazz managed to wiggle one leg free, using it to kick Prowl off of him and onto the floor. He opened an emergency comm line to Ratchet. "Ratchet! I need help! It's Prowl!" Jazz screamed as Prowl struck him again, smashing the wrench into his back struts and tackling him to the ground.

Jazz kicked, managing to crawl a few feet before Prowl pinned him again, laying his body weight full on top of Jazz. Jazz whimpered in pain, finally feeling the burning heat of Prowl's overheated internals pressed against his own now-sensitive armor. Prowl slammed the wrench into Jazz's helm again, knocking Jazz offline for several astroseconds. He came to in time to see Prowl swinging again, full force, jaws clenched and denta gritted. Jazz wrenched his body to the side, unbalancing Prowl on his downward swing and causing him to fall forward. Jazz reared up as much as he could and twisted slightly above Prowl's torso, slamming his elbow into the back of Prowl's cervical collum.

Prowl grunted, off balance, collapsing to the side. Jazz struggled to stand, but the last blow to his helm had disconnected circuits, jolted his processor, cracked his mainframe. He fell back to the floor, Prowl gripping his arm and twirling him underneath his kneeling crouch. Jazz tucked his helm into his arms, trying to shield his processor as best he could from Prowl's vicious swings. "Prowl!" Jazz cried out, "Stop! Please!"

Instead, Prowl swung down harder, again and again against Jazz's sensitive abdominal plating. Jazz shuddered, feeling his internals fracture and crack under the force of the attack. Warm energon flooded his insides; his tanks had ruptured.

Jazz's door blasted open then, Sunstreaker and Ratchet bursting through. They had both been in the Rec Room when Jazz's comm had interrupted their late night energon. Sunstreaker hadn't bothered with waiting for Ratchet's medical override keycode. He blasted his way through with his weapons and bare hands. The force of the blast knocked Prowl off balance, falling forward over Jazz on his hands.

The backup of fluids in Jazz's lines from the damage and pressure in his internals burst the thin steel tubules of his throat. Energon and coolants bubbled up from inside Jazz's chest, choking his throat opening entirely.

Ratchet and Sunstreaker paused for a fraction of an astrosecond, stunned immobile by the sight in front of them. Prowl was covered in Jazz's energon, wrench still gripped tightly in his hand. His optics were wide, unfocused, engine screaming and vents whirling. Sunstreaker threw himself at Prowl, bodily tackling him off of Jazz. Jazz rolled his helm to the side, following their tackle with his visor. He tried to stop Sunstreaker, tried to tell the Lambo to be careful, but he couldn't speak, couldn't breath through the gurgling fluids choking his throat.

Ratchet dragged Jazz out of his quarters, unfortunately by his arm, the shoulderjoint of which had been smashed in by Prowl. He tried to scream, aspirating fluids into his O2 lines and air filters.

Sideswipe came running down the corridor, shock and fear written plain on his face. He had felt his brother's own surge of shock through their bond, taking off as soon as the emotion hit. Sunstreaker was circling with Prowl, both crouched low in a gladiatorial fighting stance, ready to destroy each other. Prowl still had the wrench in his hand.

Sideswipe stepped over Jazz, ready to fire his rocket at Prowl. Jazz reached out, grasping his ankle joint, trying to scream at him to not fire. Ratchet looked up, seeing what Sideswipe was about to do. "Don't fire at Prowl, Sideswipe!"

Sideswipe didn't hesitate. "I will destroy him if he harms my brother."

"He's hurt! He's damaged! Ratchet hollered back.

"No! He's hurt!" Sideswipe pointed down at Jazz, still rupturing energon all over the Ark corridor.

"Help me get him to the medbay!" Ratchet stood, carefully moving Jazz into a seated position, trying to get the hemorrhaging fluids away from his O2 lines.

"I can't leave Sunny!" Sideswipe cried, desperately.

Jazz's world began to fade, growing dark and dim but not before his saw two more pairs of feet race down the corridor, brought by the commotion and arguing. "Oh Primus…" Jazz heard, before his optics offlined entirely.

Ratchet swore. "Mirage! Help me carry him!" Two sets of strong hands helped lift Jazz sideways, supporting his chest and neck upright, legs out straight, then started racing to the medbay. Jazz heard one final, agonizing scream before he fell offline.

* * *

When Jazz first onlined, he felt a cold, stabbing pain his right side. The world was still dark and he couldn't online his visor. Jazz started flailing, terrified, moaning in agony. He heard Ratchet swear, felt hands grip his shoulder, pushing him down again. The sensation terrified him, sent him into panicked thrashing, trying to escape the hands holding him down.

"Slag it, Jazz! Hold still!" He heard Ratchet's voice near to his audial, then slipped back into the oblivion of Ratchet's heavy sedatives.

The next time Jazz onlined, Ratchet was sitting next to his berth, watching him.

Jazz's visor flickered, trying to focus. Ratchet stood, coming to stand next to Jazz's berth, laying a hand on top of Jazz's own. "How do you feel, Jazz?" Ratchet's tone was tired, weary. There was no trace of his usual sarcastic bedside manner.

Jazz swallowed, painfully. His throat was on fire. He grunted, trying to shift position but his body wouldn't respond, only managing to listlessly shift his weight across his shoulders. "Where's Prowl?" His voice was terrible, vocalizer scratchy and dry, the new gears sticking from the unnatural lubrication not of his body.

Ratchet offlined his optics for a full ten astroseconds, squeezing Jazz's hand tightly. "How are you, Jazz?" Ratchet repeated, onlining his optics once more.

Jazz's processor was sluggish, slow and unnatural. He looked at Ratchet's hand on his own, seeing several spikes embedded in his radial lines. He followed the yellow colored one up to the trestle, spying the familiar bag of heavy sedatives dripping into his internals.

"Jazz, how do you feel?" Ratchet's voice seemed very far away, too far for Jazz to focus on. He fell back into recharge.

* * *

The third time Jazz onlined, Wheeljack was looking down on him, vocal fins flashing happily.

Jazz's thoughts were clearer, more ordered, his processor having been repaired effectively by Ratchet. He was still sedated. "Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack tilted his head, optics crinkling happily. "Hey, Jazz. How do you feel?"

Jazz shifted, a blast of pain radiating up from his right side to his helm. He gasped, falling back onto the berth, clutching at his side.

Wheeljack frowned, adjusting the drip rate of the yellow bag of sedatives. Jazz had just enough time to say, "No…" before he dropped offline again.

* * *

Jazz's optics onlined to see Hound and Mirage both leaning over him, peering down into his faceplates. He winced backwards, trying to press back deeper into the berth.

Both mechs jumped back guiltily, still looking at Jazz intently. "How do you feel, Jazz?" Mirage asked.

"Stop asking me that." Jazz was tired of the question.

"We've only asked you once, Jazz." Hound's voice was full of worry, staring at Jazz concerned.

"Ya'll ask me the same thing every time I online." Jazz frowned, pushing himself up to lean his helm back against the berth wall. "Where's Prowl?"

Mirage and Hound shared a glance before looking down at Jazz. "He's… he's alright, Jazz. Don't worry about him."

"Whadda ya mean? Where is he?" Behind Jazz, the medical vitals monitoring panel beeped, chirping loudly.

"Calm down, Jazz. It's alright." Hound reached out to sooth Jazz's arm.

Jazz jerked away. "What's going on? What'r ya keepin' from me?"

"Nothing, Jazz." Ratchet's voice broke up the group. Mirage and Hound glanced to the doorway where Ratchet was entering. Jazz realized suddenly that he was in the same surgical suite that Prowl was in, was supposed to be in, supposed to be locked in stasis.

"Then where's Prowl?" Hound and Mirage shared a glance and slipped out the surgical suite, sliding past Ratchet's form in the doorway.

"In the brig." Ratchet kept his optics glued to Jazz's own.

Jazz struggled to sit up, shocked. "What! Ya can't put him in the brig, Ratchet! He's damaged! He's hurt! That's not where he should be!"

Ratchet turned away, red hands balling into fists, voice hissing low and pained. "Do you have any idea what you look like, telling me that?" Jazz swallowed. He hadn't a clue what he looked like or what sort of damage Prowl had inflicted on him. He only had the diffuse pain and shocked looks of his friends to go on.

Prowl had beaten the side of Jazz's helm clean off, destroying his horn and breaking the armor down to expose his CPU. A static bandage covered the wound, containing and protecting the sensitive mainframe while Wheeljack and Ratchet prepared a new helm for Jazz. The ravaging of his abdominal plating had destroyed his internal transfer lines; all of them needed to be replaced. It had also cracked and shattered parts of his pelvic frame, shards of metal debris slicing and tearing through his tanks and lines.

"He didn'…" Jazz gasped, struggling for breath. "It wasn'…" Jazz shook his head. "Ratchet, please!"

Ratchet came to the side of Jazz's berth again, reaching out to silence the medical alert behind him. He looked down at Jazz, sad optics burning into Jazz's spark. "He asked to be put there, Jazz. He asked for it."

"No, Ratchet, he was burnin' up. He wasn't himself. He was havin' an incident. He was-"

Ratchet cut Jazz off. "No, Jazz. When he onlined, he asked to be put in the brig. For everyone's safety."

"Why?" Jazz's voice was tiny, fragile, one note from breaking.

Ratchet swallowed, struggling to force his way around the words in his processor. "He… remembers attacking you, Jazz. He thinks he'll do it again. To you."

Jazz couldn't comprehend, couldn't understand what Ratchet was trying to tell him. He shook his helm, small, wounded sounds escaping his vocalizer. He shook his helm, again and again, pleading optics boring holes into Ratchet's own. "No…"

"I'm sorry, Jazz." Ratchet's voice was tight. "I don't know what's happening to Prowl. I just don't know. And I don't know what to do now." Those were the worst words Jazz could have ever heard.

"Wheeljack is working on your repairs, Jazz. You have a lot of damage. A lot." Ratchet shook his helm. "Listen to me, Jazz. You can't go down there. You _cannot_ see Prowl." Ratchet held Jazz's gaze for a few astroseconds, trying to drive his words into his processor.

Straightening up, Ratchet grabbed a line from the trestle above Jazz's berth. Jazz saw the yellow liquid squirt out, Ratchet moving to fix it to the spike still in Jazz's wrist. "No…" Jazz struggled to pull away.

"Rest some more, Jazz. You need it."

* * *

Jazz spent the next several cycles lost in a series of online and offline moments rushing together in one jumbled mess. Wheeljack appeared throughout, chirping and flashing away as he worked on Jazz's repairs. Jazz quickly realized why Prowl hated Ratchet's heavy sedatives so much. He never felt whole, never felt connected to his body, instead operating as if his systems were stuck in a perpetual fragmentary disarray.

What was worse was the horrible transition from heavily sedated to partial wakefulness. Jazz's processor managed to burn through the sedatives quicker than his immobile body did, leaving him in a hypnotic paralyzed state, unable to move, barely able to think. The first couple of times it happened, Jazz had finally managed to whimper, to flicker his optics, letting Wheeljack know that he was coming out from his sedation. That resulted in a quick respiking of a new heavy sedative bag, sending him sinking back down into the black oblivion.  
This time, Jazz kept silent, floating in the uncomfortable, ethereal clutch of the dissipating sedatives, feeling Wheeljack's hands on his frame, whirling away as he moved forward with Jazz's repairs. Jazz had been mildly surprised to learn that Wheeljack talked to himself, humming, whistling, or chirping away as he worked. Another time, Jazz probably would have enjoyed the impromptu musical performance. This time though he just wanted to flee, to run, to be free of the medbay and its problems, its history. To be run from the past several orns, escape from reality. Instead he was stuck, stuck in the pull of the sedatives and Ratchet and Wheeljack's slowly progressing repairs.

Distantly, Jazz heard the medbay doors open. His optics were offline, vitals still suspended below normal in the sedated range. He didn't try to engage any of his systems, not wanting to alert Wheeljack to his partially awake state.

Heavy footsteps crossed to his berth, stopping next to Wheeljack. "Hey," Wheeljack said to the new visitor softly.

"How's he doing?" The gruff and unmistakable visitor's voice belonged to Ratchet.

"Jazz's coming along. His vital systems are finally stable. Repairing his frame is tricky though." Wheeljack sighed, heavily. "He really shattered parts of it."

Ratchet didn't say anything, rolling Jazz's wrist to inspect the series of spikes and lines in his lower arm. "We'll have to move the spikes again soon."

Wheeljack's voice was softer this time. "How is he?"

Jazz could feel his systems try to lurch in response, try to kick on. His processor, slow as it was, tried to think, tried to move. Jazz tried to calm down, tried to still himself, desperate to not alert Ratchet and Wheeljack.

"Is he out?"

Wheeljack checked the drip bag, low, but still flowing at a medium microdrip. "Yes. I'll change this in a joor."

"I don't understand it, Wheeljack." Ratchet sighed heavily, letting go of Jazz's wrist. "I just can't figure out what's going on."

"He's still stable?"

"His systems seem perfect. He's entirely stable. No spikes, no surges, nothing."

"And still no reason?" Wheeljack's voice was full of confusion, worry.

Ratchet said nothing but Jazz thought he could feel the air move around him as the CMO shook his head. Jazz was still, deathly still, forcing his processor to not function. They were discussing Prowl. Prowl, _his _Prowl. Prowl, who was stable._ Stable_.

"You don't think…" Wheeljack's voice trailed off, questioning.

"It's not a theory I'm willing to test. Not yet. I don't know what's happening right now, but I need more time. We're still going through his code. I'm still hoping to find something."

Wheeljack went back to Jazz, hands moving inside his pelvic armor near his leg joint. Jazz felt the burning sting of a laser weld, deep inside him. Wheeljack's fingers could utilize several different microtools, a highly effective modification for the inventor and _mechanic cum medic_. "I'll have his pelvic frame welded back together this cycle."

Ratchet's footsteps moved away, echoing across the medbay. He returned a breem later, unhooking the three spikes from Jazz's wrist and crossing down to his feet. Jazz felt his ankle being rolled outward, felt Ratchet's fingers pulling his tibular line, felt the tiny sting of the new spike inserting themselves into his systems.

He tried to make some noise, tried to tell Ratchet no, not to sedate him again, but he couldn't muster enough strength to do more than twitch his helm slightly.

"Is he-" Ratchet began to say as the fluids connected with Jazz's systems again, pouring their freezing medications back into his lines.

Jazz faded away, losing his small grip on wakefulness amid Ratchet and Wheeljack's voices. He didn't know, couldn't understand why they were discussing Prowl with so much concern and worry in their voice. Prowl was stable, Ratchet said. Jazz heard him, heard him say so. No more surges of energy or spiking systems. Why were they so scared of that? Why were their voices tinged with sorrow? Jazz couldn't think, couldn't feel anymore, as the sedatives pulled him under once more.

* * *

Ratchet was down in the brig later that night cycle, staring at the portable monitoring banks he had set up outside Prowl's cell. Prowl was inside, deep in recharge, calm and peaceful. Ratchet was pouring through the cycles' vital readings, mech monitors and energy field indicators he had set up around Prowl when they had first isolated the tactician down in his cell. The lights were off, the only ambient light coming from the monitors in front of Ratchet, casting a cold, eerie light around the nearly empty brig chamber.

Light cascaded through the brig suddenly, the door cracking open as Ironhide stepped through. Ratchet dimmed his optics, set up to their highest light input rating in the dark underbelly of the Ark.

"Ratchet…" Ironhide began. "You haven't been refueling. No one has seen you in the Rec Room."

"I'm fine, 'Hide. I've been taking rations." Ratchet ignored Ironhide's moving closer.

"Ratchet, you are goin' to work yourself to stasis. You need to take a break." Ironhide put his large palms down across the medical databank readouts, interrupting Ratchet's analysis. "Now."

Ratchet glared at Ironhide, protest forming on his denta.

"No, Ratchet. How many times have you told us the same thing? Take a break. Now." Ironhide wasn't giving in.

Ratchet shoved Ironhide away, moving his palm away from the screen. "Quit interfering."

Ironhide grabbed Ratchet's arm, stilling his turn back to the terminals. "Ratchet." His voice was softer, gruff still, but catching in his vocalizer. "Please."

Ratchet stilled, offlining his optics briefly. "He'll still be here in the morning, Ratch," Ironhide continued.

Ratchet nodded, slowly. He dimmed the terminal display, casting a long look at Prowl's recharging form, lonely in the dark brig. He let Ironhide drag him away.

* * *

Jazz woke suddenly, gasping in pain.

As much as he had disliked the sedatives, they were an effective pain management device. He hadn't been aware enough to care about the pain. Now that they were suddenly, mysteriously gone, Jazz felt the pain in his systems and frame full force. He doubled over, curling around himself on his side on the berth, new waves of agony spreading from his pelvic and abdominal region. He glanced down at his feet, where he had felt the last spikes of fluid being inserted. Instead of seeing the multi colored lines descending down into his ankle joint, Jazz saw the lines in disarray, torn free from his self and hanging limply.

Jazz stared. He must have moved, must have tangled himself in the lines, jerking them free. Jazz was occasionally prone to nightmares, bad nightmares, keeping him down in their clutches as he twisted and jerked in his berth, trying to escape. Jazz couldn't remember if he had had a nightmare, couldn't remember anything of his recharge before waking up in agony. He stared at the hanging lines as his processor, now free to operate at its usual speed, screamed one word at him.

Freedom.

Jazz stopped to catch his breath, panting and leaning heavily against the bulkhead in the corridor just outside the brig. He was weak, dangerously so, the covert escape and sneaking through the Ark in the middle of the night cycle taxing his already dangerously low energy reserves. Thankfully, he hadn't run into any other mech on his trip down to the brig. Jazz had to see Prowl. He had to get to him, had to see him. He had to see if he was all right, if what Ratchet had said was true. He had to talk to him. He had to.

Jazz struggled to open the heavy bulkhead of the brig door, spilling low light into the dark interior. He pushed himself in, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it, letting his optics adjust to he inky blackness.

Blue optics flicked on from the cell at the end of the aisle. Footsteps, heavy and slow, crossed the metal floor, stopping after a few steps. Metal hands moved to grip the titanium bars of the cell, the touch whispering a soft, gentle rasp of metal on metal through the dark room. Jazz nearly collapsed in relief, in happiness, in the release of all the worry and fear and loneliness that he had bottled within him when he heard Prowl's voice, deep and strong though heavy with confusion. "Jazz? Is that you?"

Jazz walked forward, clumsily reaching out and following the bars of the cells down to Prowl's own. His optics finally adjusted, letting him see Prowl's worried and tired faceplates as he stopped next to the bars of Prowl's cell and directly across from his friend. He raised his hands to cover Prowl's, gripping the cell bars between their fingers. "Prowl…" His voice was a whisper, afraid to speak any louder in the darkness.

"Jazz…" Prowl squeezed his fingers tight around Jazz's own, griping them against the metal. He leaned his helm against the bars, pressing his chevron flat. "Jazz, you shouldn't be here."

"I needed to see you, Prowl. Ratchet said you were better." Jazz pressed his helm painfully against the bars and Prowl's helm, trying to bring as much of his own body into contact with him as possible. He was desperate for Prowl's touch, for the reassurance that his friend was there, was whole, was stable.

Prowl sighed heavily, long and loud. He pressed his helm back hard against Jazz. Jazz shuddered, pain spiking through him as the static bandage across his helm cracked, fresh energon leaking from the exposed wound and trailing down his faceplates. It dripped down onto Prowl's cheekarch, warm and sticky-sweet.

Prowl stepped back suddenly, breaking his grip from Jazz's hands and the bars of the cell. He looked at Jazz, unbalanced from the loss of Prowl's grip on his hands and leaning into the cell door bars. Prowl offlined his optics, turning away from Jazz suddenly and refusing to look at him. "Jazz… you need to leave."

Jazz struggled to stand straight, struggled to reach into the cell through the bars, weak with low energy and dizzy now from the open wound on his head. "Prowl, no. It's goin' to be alright. It is."

Prowl clenched his fingers into fists, balling them up tight at his side and twisted his helm away from Jazz's reaching grasp. "What I did to you Jazz…" His voice trailed off.

"Its alrigh', Prowl. It's okay. I know it wasn' you." Jazz tried to hold himself up, leaning more of his weight against the bars.

Prowl's voice, when it came, was deathly quiet, icy and painful. "It was me, Jazz. It was me."

Jazz stilled, his struggles to reach out to Prowl stopping, his arm dropping limp against the inside of the cell. "What… what do ya mean, Prowl? It wasn't you, it was-"

Prowl rushed to the cell bars, to Jazz, slamming his helm into the bars where Jazz's own helm was. He lashed out, grabbing Jazz's shoulder joints with both hands, holding Jazz tightly pressed, painfully, against the bars. He slammed his helm against the bars, and into Jazz, again.

Jazz cried out in pain. "Prowl!"

"It is me, Jazz," Prowl growled, his voice low and dangerous. "It is me. I can feel it inside me. I'm out of control." His hands traveled up to Jazz's face, cupping his cheekarches as Jazz trembled uncontrollably. "I want… to_ feel_ you…" Prowl whispered, dangerously.

Prowl's hands suddenly pushed Jazz hard back from the cell bars. His hands shoved roughly at Jazz's shoulder struts, twisting him down and away. Jazz felt a lancing pain tear deep inside of him. He cried out and lost his footing, falling to the floor.

"Get away from me, Jazz!" Prowl shouted. "I'm too dangerous!"

Jazz crawled shakily, dragging himself forward on his hands and knees to Prowl's cell bars again. "Prowl… We can still fix this… Ratchet can-"

Prowl interrupted him, kicking at the bars near Jazz's head. "Ratchet doesn't know anything!" Prowl's voice was loud, shouting, wild and out of control.

Jazz ducked, shuddering. "Prowl…"

Prowl shuddered then himself, turning away from Jazz and gasping in trembling, heaving vents. He sank down to his knees in front of his berth, leaning his helm against the edge of the slab. His shoulders sank, weary with pain and fear. "Jazz." Prowl's vocalizer choked on his friend's name, shorting out. "Jazz, you need to leave. And you need to never come back."

Jazz stared at Prowl's back, doorwings low, slumped and dejected. "No, Prowl." His voice was stronger, fuller, more sure of himself. "No."

"I wont live like this, I told you. I'm not getting better."

"Ratchet will find the problem."

"No, Jazz, he wont. I can _feel_... _everything_… slipping away. I don't know what's really me anymore." Prowl still hadn't turned to face Jazz, was still down on his knees in front of his berth. "I'm already gone, Jazz. I'm already gone."

"No!" Jazz shouted back to Prowl's form, struggling to stand. His leg gave out, wouldn't support him amidst a wrenching tear of agonizing pain. He pulled himself up with his arms, leaning into the cell for balance until he was standing. He balanced on one foot and leaned into the bars, reaching into Prowl's cell. "No! Prowl, don' say that!"

Prowl turned, collapsing to his side and rolling into a ball on the cold metal floor. He flashed his optics up at Jazz, pain filled and agonizing. "Goodbye, Jazz," Prowl whispered then offlined his optics, followed by his audials, stilling his frame.

"No!" Jazz screamed at Prowl. "Prowl!" He screamed, again and again, rattling the cell bars, finding strength and power in his wrenching pain, tearing at his spark. "I will not leave you, Prowl! I will never leave you! I promised! I promised!"

Prowl didn't move, didn't react. His optics and audials were offlined, blind to the protest Jazz was putting up.

"I love ya, Prowl! Do ya hear me! I! Love! You! I love ya so much. And I will never leave ya! I'll never let ya go! You can't push me away! You can't!" Jazz continued to shake and pound at the cell bars, continued to push his agony through his vocalizer and his actions, continued to explode his pain out to Prowl's unresponsive form. "Prowl!"

Jazz had expended too much energy, depleted too much of his reserves. His physical trek down to Prowl, coupled with his wildly swinging emotional drain had left his processor and body systems too expended to continue on. He barely had time to react as his HUD flashed imminent stasis warning and he barely had time to gasp as the blackness consumed him, pulling him down and sending Jazz crashing to the floor, offline.

Ratchet found him several joors later after a panicked search of the Ark when Wheeljack returned from his quick recharge to find Jazz's berth in the medbay empty. Prowl had moved, uncurled from his ball on the floor, and laid out next to the bars, pressed as tight into them as he could. His fingers reached out for Jazz's unconscious form, laying alone on the floor.

* * *

Jazz onlined looking straight into Ratchet's furious face.

"How _dare_ you…" Ratchet hissed, vibrating with rage.

Jazz had never before seen the CMO so enraged. He struggled to move, to back away, to squirm from the medic's glare but was strapped down on the berth, immobile.

"How _dare_ you!" Ratchet hollered again, the force of his anger rolling over Jazz. His shout was loud enough to send pain shooting through his audials and straight to his processor. "I ordered you not to go down there, Jazz!"

"I had to, Ratchet. I'm sorry, I had-"

Ratchet cut him off, slamming his fists sideways into the medical cart next to Jazz's berth and sending the cart and instruments flying through the air. They flew into the next berth and the bulkhead, crashing and dropping to the floor. "I _ordered_ you not to go, Jazz! Frag it! I have slagging _reasons_ when I give my orders!"

Jazz froze. "Ratchet…"

Ratchet walked away, out of Jazz's field of vision. Jazz heard him roughly righting the medical cart, slamming it upright and cursing violently. "Ratchet?" Jazz tried again, voice terrified.

Ratchet wheeled the now empty cart back over to Jazz's berthside. He was shaking with anger, with rage, optics white hot. "I am the fragging Chief Medical Officer, Jazz. I am in charge of keeping you slagging lot alive." Ratchet paused, trying to calm himself. "I can't _do_ that when you mechs keep trying to stop me!"

"I didn'…" Jazz tried to begin, futilely.

"You did, Jazz!" Ratchet slammed his hand down onto the medical cart again, his control cracking once more. The cart creaked, warping and screeching under the force of the impact, twisting disfigured.

"I heard you say he was stable." Jazz meekly whispered, admitting his eavesdropping on Ratchet and Wheeljack when he was supposed to be under heavy sedatives.

Ratchet sighed, his whole posture deflating, defeated. "He was showing _signs_ of stability, Jazz. He's _not _stable. Especially not now."

Jazz frowned. "What? Wha' happened?"

Ratchet held his optics, hard. "You happened, Jazz."

Jazz searched his faceplates. "I don' understand."

Ratchet looked away, trying to collect himself, trying to force his racing and raging processor to calm. This was going to be difficult for Jazz, terrible. He had to try to be calm. "Jazz, Prowl's spikes seem to be keyed to your presence." Jazz frowned, confused. "Before Prowl attacked you, his attacks came after prolonged or recently exposed contact to you. Since you two are always together, I didn't think anything of it." Ratchet sighed, pressing on. "After he attacked you and he was put in the brig, his systems calmed. They started stabilizing. He started normalizing."

Jazz's vents whirled, his mouth sucking in greater gasps of air and hearing Ratchet's words from far away. "Ratch…"

"It's been six cycles, Jazz, since he attacked you. For five of those, he's been stable, his systems normal. No surges, no spikes."

Jazz shook his head, pleading with Ratchet to not say it, not say what was coming next.

"When you went down there, Jazz, you set him off again. I had wondered... I thought that maybe you had something to do with it, but this… this confirms it."

Static and white noise filled Jazz's vocalizer, forcing him to repeat his words until Ratchet finally heard him. "What happened?"

Ratchet looked away and wouldn't meet Jazz's optics. "He flew apart, Jazz. He just came apart at the seams." His voice was quiet, full of sorrow. He finally looked back down at Jazz, pain and sadness mixed with anger and reproach. "You _shouldn't_ have gone down there, Jazz."

Jazz struggled against the restraints holding him down and immobilizing him. His body was shaking, his processor whirling. The ground was opening up underneath him, swallowing him whole as darkness and terror poured in all around him, suffocating his screams and his agony. All he could see was Prowl's face, swimming in his optics, again and again.

He was thankful when Ratchet pumped his lines full of sedatives.

Wheeljack had repaired Jazz's frame - again - after Jazz's trip to the brig had ripped apart the new welds on his pelvic frame. The force of Jazz's repeated impacts to the floor had nearly unseated his back struts. Wheeljack wasn't pleased with having to redo his repairs, though he did understand Jazz's need to escape. He blamed himself for not staying and watching Jazz or for not securing the lines in his ankles better. Ratchet told him not too beat up his processor over it, but Wheeljack had a hard time not doing so.

The whole Ark had fallen under a pall, terrible and destructive. The ever present, choking fear and worry for their 2IC had been added to with the unspeakable attack on Jazz. Ratchet and Wheeljack tried to keep that as quiet at possible, but with the twins and Mirage and Hound having seen the whole thing, it wasn't long before the whole Ark was aware of the incident. Ratchet had had to close the medbay for anything other than serious injury, deferring all medical care to Hoist and First Aid. The Ark crew had tried to pour in, tried to visit Jazz, tried to reassure their friend and 3IC that it would be alright.

Bumblebee's team still hadn't been located either. Prime was still with the US government, no longer at the Pentagon but still working on tracking and finding their lost team. They had simply disappeared, fallen off the face of the planet. Given Skyfire's overlarge size, Wheeljack found that difficult to believe.

The only good thing, if it could be thought of that way as it usually meant the Decepticons were planning something big, was that the Decepticons were unusually quiet around the Ark area.

All in all though, it was a bad time to be an Autobot on the Ark.

* * *

Ratchet and Wheeljack had taken Jazz off of the sedatives, no longer needing to keep him under or immobile. His systems were healing well, frame solidifying under the welds, internals operating under their own self contained systems and power. Jazz himself though, was another story. Jazz was silent, still, never acknowledging the mechs around his berth. He wouldn't engage Wheeljack, Ratchet or First Aid in conversation, preferring instead to curl inward on his side, unmoving and unfeeling. His optics were either offline or listless, never focusing on anything in the room. His pain, his self-loathing and unforgiveness of himself was all consuming.

Jazz was on his side, curled inward with his kneejoints tucked into his chest armor when he felt the tingle on his sensor net that somemech was nearby. He stubbornly kept his optics offline, not wanting to listen to Ratchet or Wheeljack again.

The other mech stayed though, settling down next to his berth. After several breems, Jazz onlined his optics, curious at who was waiting there patiently by his side.

When he onlined his optics, he saw the open and innocent faceplates of Fireflight gazing back at him, resting sideways and propped on his flat hands next to his own helm on the berth. Fireflight was sitting, leaning into the berth and watching him with sad eyes. "Hi Jazz," Fireflight said at last, normally cheerfully upbeat voice quiet and subdued.

"Fireflight?" Jazz's vocalizer was scratchy, nearly catching on the syllables. "What'r ya doin' here?"

"I sneaked in. No one will tell me anything. Prowl's hurt and you're hurt and no one will tell me why." Fireflight sighed, his head bobbing oddly sideways up and down, still resting on his hands. "I hear them talking though, when they think I'm not listening. They say you're sad."

Jazz swallowed, painfully, gears tightening and gripping in his throat. He held Fireflight's optics, not able to say anything.

"Are you sad about Prowl?" Fireflight asked, innocently. Jazz tried, he tried as hard as he could, to stop the trembling that settled over him at hearing his friend's name again. It was no use though, no use trying to stop the pain from rolling through him again. Fireflight saw Jazz start to tremble and stood, taking Jazz's hands in his own smaller ones. "I'm sad too," he whispered, turning pained and mourning optics up to Jazz's faceplates.

Jazz finally lost it then, finally let out the self-hatred, the rage, the burning pressures of shame, pain and loss that were destroying him inside. He keened, wailing static and moans alternating between the trembling shakes of his body. Fireflight threw his smaller frame against Jazz, trying his best to hold on to him, to comfort him. He wrapped his arm around his shoulder, wings spread wide, covering and shielding the Saboteur. Jazz clung to him, riding the waves of agony and shame until he was through, exhausted and spent, feeling both strangely liberated and utterly destroyed, as if letting go of the pain somehow admitted its reality, admitted that the source of it was true.

Fireflight finally leaned back, straightening but not letting go of Jazz's hands. He disentangled one, reaching into his subspace and pulling out a small human toy, balanced carefully in his palm.

"Here, Jazz. I found this at the beach." Fireflight and his brothers had flown with Silverbolt for joors, circling low and slow over the ocean, silent but together after news of Bumblebee and the team's disappearance had spread throughout the Ark. Silverbolt was worried, scared for his friend Skyfire. His brothers had naturally closed ranks around him, trying to break his loneliness and ease his pain with their presence. It helped, fractionally.

"It reminds me of Prowl." Fireflight handed the tiny toy to Jazz, who took it gently, gingerly, as if it would break apart in his hands.

It was a police car, black and white and scuffed on the front bumper.

Jazz offlined his optics, clutching the tiny toy tightly to his chest. "Thank you, Fireflight," he choked out, thanking him for much more than the toy car.

Fireflight smiled.

* * *

Prowl was strapped down, immobilized on the brig's berth and unable to move. His systems were running continuously at their supercharged speeds, Ratchet's best attempts to flood his systems with sedatives only bringing the raging internals down slightly. Ratchet couldn't give him any more sedatives, already over the threshold where if his systems normalized suddenly, his vitals would crash fatally. Thus far, there hadn't been any change in his whirring systems or his spiking high energy readings. Prowl lapsed in and out of consciousness, occasionally lucid. Mostly not.

After Ratchet had taken Jazz back to the medbay, Prowl had onlined alone in the brig. His systems had clicked over, energy readings spiking suddenly. Locked in the cell and with no means to escape, Prowl had taken the aggression, the crazed wildness that took him over, out on himself. He tore at his armor, ripping at his transformation seams and slammed himself against the bars in the cell, over and over. Ratchet had found him, energon profusely leaking from his helm and continuing his destruction on himself, and had called the Lambo twins for help immediately. It had taken both of the twins using all of their brute strength to subdue him, holding him down bodily as Ratchet had pumped his lines overfull of sedatives. Sideswipe had finally loaded his pulse rifle and put it to Prowl's helm, throwing a questioning look at Ratchet.

Ratchet had ignored him. He wondered if that was the right thing to do, after everything.

It had taken so long to subdue Prowl, to bring his systems back down to livable, sustainable ranges that he hadn't had time to review the last code analysis he had done with Prowl when the tactician was still lucid and still able to help Ratchet with his healing. They had accessed his core processor that day and entered the outer bands of the very essence of Prowl. Prowl had been exceedingly uncomfortable with it all despite Ratchet's continued and gruff reassurances.

The door to the brig opened, Sideswipe entering with his pulse rifle. "Sunny's on comms, but he asked me to stay here with you." Sideswipe moved to stand against the back wall, well out of Ratchet's way but in full view of Prowl's unconscious form.

Ratchet hadn't been able to shake the Lambo twins since Prowl's attack on Jazz. The both of them, though more often Sunstreaker, had seemingly decided to be his personal guards when dealing with Prowl. He only managed to escape when in his quarters or when he snuck back to Prowl in the middle of the night cycle.

Ratchet glanced up at Sides. "Your brother must actually care for Prowl. He's been 'around' quite a bit."

Sideswipe held Ratchet's gaze hard for a long moment. "Yeah. That's it." He turned back to watching Prowl as Ratchet went back to his analysis of Prowl's code.

He was interrupted by the sound of Sideswipe arming and charging his pulse rifle, dropping into his firing stance and advancing on Prowl's cell bars. "Sides!" Ratchet shouted, glancing into the cell to see Prowl's optics blearily looking at the two of them, unfocused and dazed. "Stand down!"

Sideswipe ignored him and kept his rifle trained on Prowl as Ratchet entered the unlocked cell. He hadn't reengaged the cell doors after strapping down Prowl to the berth, the ever-present Lambo twins and restraints seemingly secure enough for Ratchet.

Prowl's optics focused in on Prowl as the CMO advanced, stopping next to the berth. "Please Ratchet…" Prowl rasped out, internals still fighting the sedatives. "Take it out…" Ratchet had inserted an energon feeding line after Prowl had stubbornly refused to refuel and refused to take in the nutrient-rich energon he needed to keep going. The medical grade energon in his lines wasn't enough to fuel his systems entirely. The ores and additives in the fuel grade energon were required as well. Prowl had fought him every step of the procedure, nearly breaking the restraints and Sunstreaker's jaw joint, but Ratchet had successfully inserted the line through his armor to join with the fuel tank, pumping him with a steady flow of fuel.

"I'm sorry, Prowl. I wont do that."

"_Please_…" Prowl's voice rasped out, desperate. "I can't control it inside…"

Ratchet shook his head. "I'm sorry Prowl. I wont terminate you."

Prowl whimpered as Ratchet turned to leave, looking at Sideswipe through the metal bars. Sideswipe glanced over to Ratchet, meeting each other's gaze in a look full of worry.

That second, that moment, that loss of optic contact on Prowl, was all it took.

Prowl heaved, systems flying and lurching suddenly well into overdrive. He thrashed, bursting through the restraints on his arms and twisting to break the seal on the leg restraints. Sideswipe shouted, tried to get Ratchet to move, to clear the cell so he could fire, but Prowl was too quick.

Prowl lunged at Ratchet, tackling him from behind. Sideswipe rushed into the cell, shouting at Prowl to release Ratchet and to back off. Prowl ignored him, slamming Ratchet's helm forward into the floor and knocking the CMO offline instantly. He rolled, bringing Ratchet's body in front of his as Sideswipe prepped to fire.

Sideswipe swore and arched his shot, refusing to fire on Ratchet as Prowl held him as a shield in front of his body on the floor. He backed up as Prowl stood, still holding Ratchet's form in front of him before he threw the unconscious CMO straight at the red Lambo. Sideswipe had been backed into the corner of the cell, realizing in an instant that he had made a big mistake. There as nowhere to escape as Ratchet's large form was thrown his way. He reached out, trying to catch the body of the CMO, trying to lessen the impact and damage to both Ratchet and himself.

He didn't see Prowl rushing him behind the body of Ratchet.

Prowl tackled the both of them, slamming their bodies together and into the cell's corner. Sideswipe's helm ricocheted off the bars, sending sparks of light across his optic's field of vision. He groaned, pain radiating across his helm and shoulder.

::Sunny!:: Sideswipe called out across his bond with his brother.

::I'm sending help:: Sunstreaker, stuck at comms, couldn't come himself, but the suddenly sounding internal alert klaxon would have the entire Ark rushing to their aid.

Prowl growled, slamming them both into the corner once more and this time punching Sideswipe in the faceplates as well. The crushing pressure of Prowl's force and Ratchet's dead weight was too much for Sideswipe and he collapsed, sliding to the ground underneath Ratchet's form.

Prowl let them fall to the ground, panting hard and engines screaming. He reached down, severing two lines in each of their bodies before fleeing the brig.

Mirage, who was acting as head of both Jazz's department and acting second and third in command, remained on the command deck with Sunstreaker as the rest of the mechs flooded down to rendezvous with their squads to defend the Ark's internals. Ironhide, acting in Prime's stead, had rushed out almost before Sunstreaker had finished telling him of the commotion in the brig, calling for Wheeljack and First Aid to meet his squad outside the Rec Room with a full gurney and field kit.

Red Alert tried to track Prowl's progress through the Ark, turning to infrared and heat seeking sensors after Prowl ripped out his internal comm, leaving it to perpetually transmit his location as hovering in the lower level corridor, port side.

"He's moved up to the main level," Red Alert called out across the battle net.

"We're not in position yet!" Ironhide hollered back. "Gears! Where are you?"

"We're moving now." The minibots were advancing on Prowl's location faster than Ironhide's squad could.

"He knocked out Sides, Gears." Sunstreaker's voice broke across the battle net, tight and hard. "Watch yourselves."

"Weapons free," Ironhide ordered, setting the battlenets fighter's weapons to their highest setting.

A half breem later, an explosion shook the Ark, coming, ironically, from Wheeljack's lab.

"What the frag was that?" Red Alert called over the battle net. "Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack, down in the brig working on Ratchet with a guard from Ironhide's squad called back. "I'm busy! Wasn't me!" His voice was tinged with worry and apprehension, working on the unconscious form of his best friend down in the brig

The hull breach alarm, unused and unheard since their first space flight from Iacon sounded, shrill and unnatural across the Command Deck. It took the mechs a moment to figure out what it was. "What the slag is that?" Mirage whispered, turning to Red Alert.

"…Hull breach." Red Alert turned back to the battle net. "Gears! Can you get to Wheeljack's lab?"

"We're trying!" Gears' gruff, clipped voice shouted back.

Grimlock, out on inner perimeter patrol with Slag and Sludge, suddenly comm'd the Command Deck. "Me Grimlock see him Prowl leave Ark perimeter." The simple patrol duty was good for the dinobots. It got them out of the confines of the Ark and was perfectly suited for them to follow the exacting reporting guidelines of the patrols. Grimlock automatically reported every coming and going of the mechs, not thinking twice about the flight of Prowl.

Mirage cursed. Sunstreaker, still on comms, acknowledged Grimlock's report. If he didn't, Grimlock would repeat his report until he was acknowledged, the simplistic nature of his brain following the coding script of his duties on perimeter duty to the letter.

"He's out of the Ark," Red Alert called across the battle net.

They could all hear Ironhide swear viciously. "Gears, get your bots to the entrance. Stand guard. Bluestreak, Hound, Inferno, Tracks, you're with me. We're going out there. Launch the Aerialbots."

Sunstreaker comm'd Silverbolt, ordering his wing out to search for their 2IC. As he comm'd off the channel, he noticed the last name on the list of battle net participants, mechs logged onto the automatically initiated secure comms channel. Sunstreaker called Mirage over quietly to not catch Red Alert's furious notice, busy at his own monitor bank.

"Mirage…" Sunstreaker pointed to the name.

Mirage sucked in a breath, catching optics with Sunstreaker. "He's going to go after him." Mirage knew it. He just knew it. Sunstreaker held his gaze.

* * *

Jazz crept down the Ark hallway, moving as fast as he dared and trying not to run into Ironhide's search team, the minibots, or Wheeljack and First Aid returning from the brig. He had keyed into the battle net as soon as it onlined, his officer status allowing him immediate entry. He said nothing, listening in horror as the information was relayed about Prowl's attack on Ratchet and Sideswipe and his subsequent escape. Ironhide was racing to the Ark entrance with his team, determined to catch the escaping tactician. Catch him or kill him.

Jazz crept through the hallways, heading for Wheeljack's lab. He was going after Prowl. There was something dangerously wrong with him, something eating him apart from the inside. Prowl was out of control and not himself. Ratchet hadn't found a way to fix him. Jazz knew, knew in the deepest regions of his spark, what Prowl was going to do. He wouldn't let him do it. He wouldn't let his friend terminate himself, not without Jazz doing everything he could for him. He wasn't a medic, wasn't a mechanic and couldn't fix the problem for Prowl. He couldn't bring Prowl back to himself. But Jazz could stay with him and would be there with him until the end. He pushed aside the sounds of Ratchet's fury, telling him that Jazz was responsible for Prowl's destruction of himself, for the craziness that had descended on his processor and spark.

Jazz had always known that he would die with Prowl there with him. He wasn't about to let Prowl do this alone. Not alone.

As he entered Wheeljack's lab, Jazz saw Huffer and Cliffjumper standing guard outside the jagged hole in the twisting orange metal. Prowl had managed to blow clear through the bulkhead, tearing a gash large enough for several mechs to escape through. Grapple was going to have a hard time repairing the extensive damage. A spot weld would have to suffice for the interim, but the jagged lines of scorched metal would need to eventually be restitched and strengthened with solder and reinforced to the hull.

Jazz held back, out of sight. He had one chance to do this, one chance to break free. His top speed was faster than both the minibots; he'd be able to flee them. If he could get past.

Clearing his path of debris, Jazz stilled, Cliffjumper catching his form in the dark, smokey lab. "Jazz? What are you doing here?"

Jazz ignored him and initiated his transformation sequence. "Jazz?" Cliffjumper's worried tone took on an edge of roughness as he raised his rifle at Jazz's bumper.

Jazz throttled his engine, the vibrations and sudden burst of speed knocking Cliffjumper from his position blocking Jazz's escape. He fell to the side as Jazz swerved around him, escaping out of the Ark through Prowl's blown hole, clipping his mirror as he struggled to avoid driving over Cliffjumper's foot. He heard Huffer shout after him and felt the arch of weapons fire around his body. He knew they were both good shots, knew that if the wanted to, they would have directly hit him. He throttled down harder, driving faster, speeding away from the Ark.

Jazz reached his sensors out wide, searching for Prowl's heat signature. He found Ironhide's squad, squawking their beacons far to his right and coming around from the Ark entrance. Prowl's beacon, keyed to his internal comm, was silent.

Frustrated, Jazz switched to his SpecOps scanners, searching for minute traces of leaking energon, ores from spilled from leaking lines and anything that would key him into the fleeing tracks of his friend. His depth sensors traced the ground, searching for Prowl's tire tread. There, several miles away, he keyed into a single drop of energon, buried deep into the tire tread of Prowl's Datsun Earth model. The energon was fresh, still warm, still actively radiating energy. Jazz slammed his brakes, sliding violently to the left and gunned his engine, tires kicking out sand and dirt as he jumped forward, fishtailing wildly. He barely steadied his course before racing off again.

A breem later, his sensors picked up the squawking beep of someone following him. Cursing, Jazz saw the unmistakable form of Sunstreaker coming up fast behind him, dust cloud huge behind his tailfins. Jazz tried to coax more speed, more power from his Earth engine, but Sunstreaker was far faster than he was.

He cursed as Sunstreaker transformed, lunging out for his speeding frame. Jazz transformed as well, twisting in the air and bringing his hands up to fight off the Lambo. They crashed into the desert floor hard, twisting and grappling with each other violently, dust and debris flying up around them and swirling with Sunstreaker's own dust cloud from the chase. Sunstreaker was larger than Jazz, much larger, and he was able to pin the Saboteur through brute force quickly. Jazz couldn't free his arms, couldn't twist to kick his legs, couldn't head butt the twin off of him. Sunstreaker held him down, stretched out full on top of him, viciously grinding his hands and arms into the desert floor.

Jazz gasped in pain. "Sunny! Let me go!"

Sunstreaker pushed him down tighter, hissing at him. "Quiet!"

Red Alert's voice flooded out of Sunstreaker's comm. "Sunstreaker? You've stopped your chase. Did you find him?"

"No." Sunstreaker stared down into Jazz's visor. "I saw his tracks veer to the right. Send Ironhide and the Aerialbots that way. I'm just scanning."

"Will do." Red Alert flicked off the comm., Sunstreaker staring down into Jazz's optics hard.

"What are you doin', Sunstreaker?" Jazz still couldn't move, still was pinned beneath the golden Lambo.

"Shut up."

Sunstreaker looked back, back the way he had come tearing from the Ark. Jazz tried to follow his gaze, but Sunstreaker never let up on the pressure holding him down. Finally, after a breem that seemed to stretch for joors, a small dust cloud began speeding towards them. Sunstreaker relaxed minutely though still didn't release his hold on Jazz.

As the dust cloud drew closer, Jazz could see the blue and white streaks of Mirage racing towards him and Sunstreaker. Jazz had no idea what the two mechs were going to do, didn't have any idea what was happening, didn't know why Sunstreaker had called the search teams away from their area. He thought for an astrosecond that Sunstreaker would want to kill him, to rip him apart for the damage Prowl had done to Sideswipe and Ratchet but that seemed less likely now. Jazz waited, frantically wanting to resume his chase of Prowl.

Mirage transformed after screeching to a halt next to the two, sending a hail of dust and dirt raining down on them. Sunstreaker for once didn't comment on his paint, merely glowered at Mirage. "Took you long enough."

Mirage frowned. "It is actually difficult to steal supplies from the Ark. Red Alert is quite good at his job." He stood, hefting two gear bags from his trunk and subspace. "Your brother and Ratchet are going to be fine. Prowl didn't do much actual damage."

Sunstreaker nodded, already knowing that Sides was merely offline and not in danger and finally let up off of Jazz. He stood and grabbed one of the gear bags Mirage brought. He opened it, rifling through the contents and nodded, pleased, then handed it to a confused Jazz. "Energon, fluids, rations. A field repair kit."

Mirage handed him his other bag. "SpecOps optics peripherals, sensor field expander, explosive putty of Wheeljack's." He unhooked his pulse rifle from his shoulder, holding it out to Jazz. "And this."

Jazz took both bags, speechless. He looked between the two, confused. "Why?"

Mirage answered first. "If it were Hound… I'd do the same."

Sunstreaker stood, glaring down at Jazz. "You'd better hurry. We'll keep them off your trail for as long as we can." He sighed, vents whirring. "I don't think Ironhide will search very long outside the perimeter."

Jazz hefted the bags, storing one in his subspace and the other in his own trunk though it was a tight fit. He fixed the rifle to his forearm, secure there during his transformations. "Thank you. Thanks," he said, hurriedly transforming and gunning his engines to tear off after Prowl's trail once more, flashing his tail lights at the shrinking forms of Sunstreaker and Mirage.

None of them expected to see the other ever again.

* * *

Jazz tore after Prowl, never stopping, never breaking his chase. He nearly lost the trail when Prowl entered the human highway system, though the sensor expander Mirage had given him allowed Jazz to extend his sensor array and key in to the unique ores of their protoforms. Prowl was there, at the very edge of the sensor's periphery. The expansion drained Jazz's energy reserves and he was thankful for the energon rations Sunstreaker had given him as Jazz took off after him again.

Prowl never stopped.

He seemed to be trying to drive to oblivion, to drive himself into the ground. Jazz didn't think that he knew he was being followed. He did nothing to try to hide his course, did nothing to shake Jazz's pursuit. He simply drove ever onward, faster and faster, placing more distance between himself and the Ark. Jazz followed, never gaining ground, always stuck 100 miles behind his friend.

Jazz never stopped either.

At some point, Jazz was aware of the languages around him shifting, idly thinking that he had crossed a border or two of one of the human countries. He didn't stop to think, didn't stop to care, just pressed onward.

Finally, after almost an orn straight of driving, Prowl stopped, slowing at the coastline and stopping near an isolated beachy jungle. Jazz rushed forward, several joors behind.

When he finally, finally came up on Prowl's location, Jazz was exhausted, dented and damaged, filthy and covered in dust, grime and dirt. He transformed, staggering under the sudden change from his vehicle mode. His tanks squeezed, spark clenching in his chest as he advanced on Prowl, uncertain of what he would find.

If Jazz was in bad shape, Prowl was in much, much worse. His systems hadn't come down from their shriekingly high state, burning through his fluids and reserves until the metals were rubbing against each other with no lubrications. Jazz was shocked that he had even managed to transform after utterly destroying the internals of his vehicle mode.

Prowl was filthy, damaged and smoking, but utterly unfazed by the shocking lack of fluids in his systems. Jazz didn't know what was propelling him forward, what was enabling him to live. It shouldn't be possible, shouldn't be happening, but there Prowl was, on the beach.

Jazz walked forward to the crouching form of Prowl, shuffling through the shells and rocks of the pebble beach. "Prowl?"

Prowl stilled, helm flashing to Jazz, his optics wide and unfocused. He stood unsteadily, stalking towards Jazz. Jazz held his ground, staring into the wild optics of his friend. He panted, gasping for air and control as Prowl stopped in front of him. Prowl reached out, hands brushing Jazz's upper arms. "You're here…"

"Yes, Prowl, yes. I'm here. I told ya I'd never leave you." Jazz reached out for Prowl's armor, flinching from the super heated metal.

"You're here… Switch, you're here! I knew you'd come! I knew you'd get here!"

Jazz stilled, confused. "Wha'? Prowl, what?"

Prowl turned, scrambling back down to the water's edge and digging frantically in the rocky surf. "Help me, Switch! It's here! It's right here!"

Jazz followed Prowl to the shoreline, stopping a few feet back from his friend and crouching low as the gentle waves lapped over Prowl's kneeling frame. He was digging frantically. "Prowl…" He began again, not certain what he was going to say.

"Stop calling me that!" Prowl suddenly yelled, jumping up to charge in front of Jazz. He stood, shaking and pressing his helm close to Jazz's. "It's here!" he repeated again.

"What's here, Prowl?"

"Our ship! Our ship, Switch!"

Jazz reached out, grasping Prowl's arms. "Prowl, no. There's no ship. Yer hurt. Yer damaged. _Please._ Please, come with me."

Prowl shoved Jazz, hard, sending him flying backwards into the pebble beach surf. Warm salt water lapped over his frame, a soothing counterpoint to the gear stopping pain of finding Prowl gone. Prowl dropped down again, ignoring Jazz now and continuing his frantic digging. Jazz tried to reach out to him once more, Prowl throwing a handful of rocks sideways at Jazz for his efforts and grunting in anger when Jazz tried to approach.

Jazz unhooked the rifle from his arm. He gazed around at the serene landscape, pristine and undisturbed. It was gorgeous, the perfect place he would have wanted to bring Prowl to… if things had gone differently. If he had made so many different decisions. It was a good place for the both of them to die. Jazz raised his rifle, setting his sights to the back of Prowl's helm. He was oddly, strangely, calm, feeling nothing. He had felt everything he could have felt before, before he was faced with the evidence of Prowl's complete and utter break with reality. His Prowl, the one he loved, was long gone.

Jazz just wished he had been able to say goodbye.

He was half pressed on the trigger when the sonic boom above rocked him from his kneeling stance, sending him crashing forward. He braced his fall with his hands as the rifle went flying into the surf. He stared overhead, watching the descending, spiraling forms of the three Seekers land on the beach on the other side of Prowl.

His chest tightened, rage and pain shaking his frame. _It couldn't get any worse_, he thought. It just couldn't. He did not want Prowl to die by the Seekers, did not want the Seekers to have the satisfaction and joy of seeing Prowl in his condition. He couldn't stand the cheering, gloating, jeers of the Decepticons, not when his spark was breaking and his reason for living was long gone. Prowl had stopped his frantic digging, staring at the Seeker trine on the beach, still kneeling and making no moves.

Thundercracker, Skywarp and Starscream descended, transforming and landing on their feet. Thundercracker and Skywarp held Starscream between them, steadying his landing as the red Seeker stumbled forward, weak and unbalanced. He looked terrible, wing warped and obviously damaged, spot welds and strips of metal interlaced in a haphazard pattern across his frame. Starscream shook his wingmates off and stepped forward shakily, his sneer everpresent on his twisted faceplates.

"You finally managed to escape, Prowl." The Seeker's scratchy voice was dripping with scorn. "I wondered when you'd get here."


	7. Chapter 7

**Crash Into You**

Chapter Seven

* * *

_*Disclaimer - this *is* a fictional piece. I draw on reality to construct my fiction though. I do understand that I have readers logging in from around the world. Nothing in this is meant to offend anyone, at all. Fiction that erupts out of reality with the hint of possibility has always been my favorite kind, and thus, the style in which I write. (Also why the science/tech "stuff" is the way it is.)_

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* * *

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Aliens hadn't existed in Ran Jian Hong's world. Beings from another world were confined to fiction stories, poorly written popcorn novels and flashy American made movies with too many computer graphics and too little plot. Aliens were entirely fictional, entirely fake. They did not exist.

Aliens didn't exist. Most certainly not giant alien robots from a different galaxy. He was as certain of that fact as he was of the sun's rising the next day, or the strength of the Chinese economic system against the American capitalistic beast. Today though, as he traded additional information with the visored and lean purple robot – Decepticons, he remembered – Jian realized that he ultimately knew nothing. _Nothing._

Jian had been contacted several months ago directly by an anonymous interested party. He had been immediately suspicious and refused to return contact. One did not get to his position without some measure of survivability and necessary paranoia creeping in at every turn.

Jian was head of the greatest, and last, weapons proliferation smuggling rings in the world. His clients stretched the globe, from tiny warring factions in unknown and entirely inconsequential provinces of dusty and disease ridden corners of the world to major factions within supremely powerful and leading countries in the world. He himself was allied with a splinter movement of his own country, one more aggressive than the current leaders allowed them to be.

Jian supplied them all and to any party that contacted him for assistance... that could pay. He often supplied both warring sides; aside from the mathematical percentage determinations of mass populations of fighters, he could perpetuate a stalemate for decades, continuously ensuring a steady stream of business.

He didn't start out this way. Jian was a scientist originally, not a businessman. He was a minor physicist in a small but hard-working lab in Beijing. They were determined, dedicated to pushing China into the future through technological breakthrough. They needed a way to match, or even better beat, the meteoric rise of the rest of the world's own technological advancements. Especially militarily.

A.Q. Khan helped them bridge that gap.

The brilliant Pakistani scientist was an eager partner and participant in China's nuclear weapons program. His programs, connections, and business transactions enabled their country's scientific military endeavors to exponentially explode – literally. Overnight, Jian found himself working on the most cutting edge programs, deeply held state secrets, and darkest devices in China. He had always been flexible though, and quickly worked his way from working as a lab technician, a simple worker in a long line of scientific experimentation, to an indispensable part of the operating team. His ability to communicate, to effectively explain, and explain away, the successes and failures within the advancing program brought him to the attention of the governing authority they reported to in secret. His liaisons there led him to the personal attentions of A. Q. Khan himself.

That period of science and adventure held no precedent in his life. His expertise was lauded by Khan, admired by his peers, and extended the world over. He quickly became an integral, though hidden, part of Khan's network.

When Khan went down in 2003 after Libya's defection and resignation from their weapons market conglomerate made highly public and the source of their knowledge and material detailed in the world press, Jian suddenly found himself the new leader of their network. Others tried to step in; he crushed them. Several countries balked, certain that the West would destroy them; he pacified them. Their market conglomerate strengthened, continued on, despite the loss of their public leader.

It only forced them deeper underground.

Which made the entirely unwelcome and anonymous request for a conversation, mysteriously appearing untraceable on his BlackBerry one morning a significant cause for concern. They had to preserve caution, act conservatively. The West was forever trying to find them, shut them down, dismantle their projects. This had to be another Western interference. It had to be.

Except it was not. As Jian had ignored the requests for contact and summons for more information, the intrusions into his life and business had become more severe. He was certain, entirely certain it was the West, finally coming after him. He could not have been more wrong.

The first time he had seen the alien robots the large blue one with the smaller internal robots had cornered him in his office. Jian still heard that robot's voice in his head, deep and monotone. He had said his name, declared he was to come with them. Declared his leader had an offer for him. Jian thought he would have been more assertive, more confrontational when dictated to and told what to do. That was before he knew there were giant alien robots in the universe though, and he was pretty certain they weren't American made.

The large blue one, Soundwave, took him to his alien leader in the horrific and disgustingly smelly warehouse district next to the Qinhuangdao port. He was certain he was about to die, about to be smushed, shot, lasered, destroyed, about to be entirely obliterated by the alien robot that by all rights shouldn't exist at all.

That's when he had seen the eyes, glowing red optics slowly advancing on him from across the pitch-black warehouse shell. His own eyes, now huge and panicked, had searched for the outline of that terrible thing advancing on him, finding nothing but clawing darkness, deep and impenetrable. It had begun to laugh, lowand throaty, filled with malice and hate. Jian tried to turn, tried to flee, but the blue one, visor now pulsing red and glowing, blocked his escape, halting him in his tracks.

"We finally are able to meet, Ran Jian Hong." That voice, disembodied save for the evil red eyes, pulsing as if lit by the fires of hell itself, was full of scorn, full of arrogance, full of knowing just what he had done to Jian. "You are a difficult human to find."

Those smaller robots, snide, arrogant creatures that seemed to erupt out of the large blue one had pinned him then, holding him still and facing the advancing red-eyed shadow. The form emerged, as terrible and destructive as he could have imagined, a gunmetal grey alien robot armed with an obscenely large cannon affixed to his arm and carrying himself as if he truly possessed the power to crush worlds in his giant robotic grip.

The alien robot had looked down, directly into Jian's own eyes. His helmet was huge, covering his alien head and framing his angular features in a curtain of fear and rage. Those eyes, those ever burning eyes lit the warehouse around them now, reflecting light off the purple fractal pattern etched into the front of his gunmetal grey armor.

"Our enemies are allies," that raspy voice had said. "We share a common goal in their obliteration."

* * *

"You finally managed to escape, Prowl." The Seeker's scratchy voice was dripping with scorn. "We've been waiting for you."

The angry, irritated frustration that Jazz had felt when he saw the Seekers land on the beach transformed within him to a deep pit of fiery, burning rage upon hearing Starscream's words. He launched up to his feet, visor white hot and reached for his rifle in the surf.

Prowl was too fast, suddenly too fast for Jazz to react to. Prowl was on his feet and charging Starscream full on, a primal scream of rage tearing out of his vocalizer. Jazz tried to tear after him, sand and the rocky pebbles tripping him up as he tried to scramble after his friend. "Prowl!"

Starscream had a moment, facing an enraged and crazed charging Prowl, to look shocked, surprise wiping the smug arrogance off his faceplates for a brief instant. In the next moment, Thundercracker and Skywarp, still both bracketing Starscream from behind moved, each coming to their trinemate's defense. Thundercracker stepped forward in front of Starscream, bodily shielding him and raising his arm, laser pulse ray whining as it charged and aiming straight at Prowl's charging form. Skywarp disappeared in a hot blitz of purple static, reappearing a fraction of an astrosecond later behind Jazz. He grabbed him from behind and tackled him to the pebble beach. Jazz struggled, trying to fight off the heavy weight of the Seeker, but he was still too weak, still too drained from his mad trek across the continent. He had come here to die by Prowl's side, not to fight the Decepticons. He had no more strength to give.

Prowl continued charging Starscream, heedless of Thundercracker's laser ray charging to fire in his chest. His faceplates were twisted and ugly, shrieking and growling at the Seekers in front of him and seeing nothing but a burning need to destroy.

"Prowl!" Jazz tried to cry out, tried, even in the last moment, to warn his friend and to help him.

Thundercracker fired, aiming low at Prowl's feet, unbalancing the black and white mech and sending him tumbling into the beach surf. He made to stand again, but Thundercracker jumped on top of him, his large frame wrestling with Prowl's own. He finally managed to pin the battle-crazed tactician down into the surf and pushed his helm down hard into the pebbles, letting the small ocean waves lap into his faceplates. Prowl continued to struggle, growling and screaming unintelligible noises through his vocalizer at Thundercracker, energon dripping from his mouthplates as the blue Seeker held him down. Starscream walked towards them warily.

Prowl jerked, knocking Thundercracker almost off balance on top of him. Thundercracker jerked Prowl's arms back behind him hard, nearly unseating Prowl's shoulderjoint. He kicked his knee into the small of Prowl's back, knocking his backstruts forward and bringing the doorwinger back against his torso firmly, holding him immobile for Starscream's advance.

"Thought that Autobot medic was supposed to be smart," Thundercracker grunted, straining as Prowl continued to struggle.

Starscream sneered as he finally stopped directly in front of Prowl. Jazz watched helplessly, still struggling futilely against Skywarp's hold on him down in the pebble beach as Starscream pulled an interface cable from his cervical collum access and reached for Prowl's own cervical data port. "Don' touch him, you fragger!"

Jazz's struggles were of no use. Thundercracker grunted as Starscream jammed his cable into Prowl's port, sending Prowl arching back hard against the blue Seeker, his mouthplates open in a silent, agonizing scream. Starscream gasped, falling down to the beach in front of the two mechs, his optics offlining as he struggled against the mass of data passing through the link.

Jazz screamed, hollering at Starscream to get away from Prowl and to leave him alone. His thrashing increased, bashing back against Skywarp again and again. When Starscream fell to his knees on the rocks, gasping slightly and offlining his optics, Skywarp started infinitesimally, shock and worry suffusing his frame and slackening his hold on Jazz for a moment. It was all Jazz needed.

With a burst of power and strength that came only from the pain inside at seeing Prowl in danger, Jazz thrashed hard, feeling Skywarp's hold loosen and managed to slip loose an arm. He elbowed upwards, jabbing his elbow into the sensitive jaw joint of the Seeker and managed to knock Skywarp sideways. Jazz rolled with him, bringing his now free legs down hard on the Seeker's knee joints, then beating his other, now free, elbow back hard against Skywarp again and again until the Seeker went limp around him. Jazz stood, wavering slightly before taking off down the beach towards Prowl, Thundercracker and Starscream.

Thundercracker had seen everything, turning at once to see Jazz attack his trinemate. He was powerless to help, powerless to do anything though; he needed to hold Prowl back, immobilize the crazed Autobot off of Starscream until the data transfer was complete. Starscream was shaking now with the strain, groaning with optics still offline.

Prowl's scream broke the reverie, his deep and normally commanding voice now sounding shrill and cracked as he screamed long and loud, the force of Starscream's data transfer finally seating itself into his processor. The sound only drove Jazz harder, faster, screaming now himself as he raced towards the two Seekers next to Prowl. Thundercracker was unable to move, unable to do anything except shout to Starscream and try to warn him of Jazz's attack.

Starscream ripped out the interface cable roughly, rising shakily to his feet. Thundercracker dropped Prowl, no longer struggling or fighting in his hold. Prowl dropped down forwards on his hands and knees, gasping and drawing in ragged breaths through his mouth and vents.

Jazz raced towards them, leaping at Starscream, intent on ripping the Seeker's helm from his frame.

Thundercracker threw himself down in front of Starscream, shooting upwards at Jazz's frame and downing the Saboteur as Prowl finally turned to look at Jazz, catching his friend's surprised faceplates and look of shock as Prowl shouted, just as Jazz was hit, "Jazz! No!"

* * *

Ratchet onlined to a dark medbay.

He groaned, rolling his helm to the side and looking around. Sideswipe was in the next berth, offline and recharging. There weren't any fluid cords descending to his lines. Ratchet snorted, figuring the brash Lambo couldn't have damaged himself too badly this time.

With a sudden start, Ratchet remembered exactly why he was in the medbay on one of his own berths. He shot upwards, data input suddenly unbalancing his sluggish equilibrium processors. He wavered, dizzy, optics offlining. Ratchet moaned.

Strong hands stilled him, steady on his shoulder. Ratchet onlined his optics and looked up directly into the too-bright optics and strong face of Sunstreaker.

"Where's Prowl? Is he alright?" Ratchet's vocalizer was scratchy from being offline. He tried to stand, tried to push his way off the berth, but Sunstreaker wouldn't let him, keeping his hands on his shoulderjoints and pushing the medic back down to the berth.

"Rest, Ratchet." Sunstreaker's face vents caught the dim lights from the med console, casting his faceplates in a golden glow. "You and Sides were knocked out for a while. Rest."

Ratchet tried to push Sunstreaker away, tried to fight off those hands on his shoulder, tried to force his way back up to a sitting position. He had to get back to Prowl. He had to find out what went wrong. As soon as his backstruts hit the berth, Ratchet felt the exhaustion seep through his processor and felt the weariness set in his frame. He offlined his optics, rolling his helm away from Sunstreaker and his hands before onlining them again.

Wheeljack was seated in the chair next to his berth, entirely offline and deep in recharge. His helm was leaning far back, legs spread akimbo and disjointed. The sight was comical, hysterical even for Ratchet who would have been laughing if he wasn't so damn tired. Sunstreaker's hands were still on him, now on his arm, holding him to the berth though it all seemed very far away suddenly. "Rest, Ratchet. We're here." Ratchet offlined his optics for the last time, gazing at Wheeljack's entirely discombobulated form, Sunstreaker's hands still on his armor and slipped back into recharge.

When Ratchet onlined again, much later in the cycle, Wheeljack had vanished from his uncomfortable watch. The chair was abandoned and empty. Ratchet had a small twinge of petulant annoyance at that; he had never let someone online alone in his medbay. That seemed to be a habit of his own; Wheeljack had certainly left him to find a more comfortable recharge area. Not that he blamed him though. That chair was incredibly uncomfortable to recharge in. Ratchet had spent many night cycles seated in it, stubbornly pushing recharge off until his patient, more often than not one or both of the Lambo twins, would awaken.

Ratchet pushed himself up from the berth, checking his internal chronometer and wincing at the amount of lost time he had. Everything had come rushing back when he woke up the last time, everything. _Prowl._ His raging breakthrough of the restraints. Sideswipe's panicked faceplates shouting at him to drop down, to get out of the way. The feeling of being tackled to the ground from behind. Then nothing. He stilled, rubbing the base of his helm and sighing. He really had no idea what to do with Prowl. None at all.

"How do you feel?"

Ratchet jumped, swearing violently and whipping his helm around to stare at the imposing form of Sunstreaker standing at the opposite side of his berth in between himself and Sideswipe's own recharging form a berth away. Sunstreaker was staring down at Ratchet intently, optics hard and glowing brightly. He hadn't recharged at all, running on high-grade energon to keep his systems online and pushing recharge off.

"Primus, Sunstreaker! You're going to give me a slagging glitch!" Ratchet shook his helm, trying to shake the jitters that had settled through his frame from the rush of shock and surprise at Sunstreaker's words. He turned his helm again, sighing at Wheeljack's vacant chair as he pushed himself up off the berth. Sunstreaker moved aside, reaching out briefly as if to help Ratchet hop down but dropped his hand back down to his side instead.

He saw Ratchet's glare at Wheeljack's former perch. "He onlined a few joors ago. I told him to go back to his berth." Sunstreaker left out the part about Wheeljack's heinously grumpy mood and strained cables, uncomfortable from slumping in the chair for so long. He also left out the part about his own constant vigilance, watching over both his brother and Ratchet's unconscious forms in the medbay. Those were not things Ratchet needed to know, nor were they things Sunstreaker, so famously short on words, felt necessary to share.

Ratchet shook his head, moving away from his berth and from the golden Lambo and walked over to Sideswipe's berth next to his. There was an empty chair placed in between the feet of both berths where Sunstreaker had sat up all night cycle. Sideswipe was still unconscious, still deep in medical recharge. His CPU had ricocheted off his internal helm, fragging his processor and requiring a long-cycle defrag. He was still resting from that procedure. It wasn't life threatening, merely uncomfortable, time consuming and exhausting.

Ratchet fingered the pressure bandages around Sideswipe's wrist, noticing for the first time he had one on his own. A spike and a cord transfer of fluids had recently been in both of their lines. He turned to the medbay computer terminal above Sideswipe's berth as Sunstreaker stood on the opposite side of his brother, gazing down at Sideswipe's still form. Ratchet frowned. Prowl had severed two energon lines in both of their bodies it seemed. The damage wasn't life threatening, but entirely immobilizing. It was also familiar.

Ratchet looked over at the golden Lambo, now watching him intently. "Prowl severed our peripheral circulation lines." All energon flow to the outer extremities had been interrupted, pooling instead in their frames until their internal systems clamped and blocked their damaged and cut lines. "Isn't that your little trick against the minibots?"

Sunstreaker didn't visibly react, just held Ratchet's hard stare. "You've certainly been punished for it enough." Ratchet sighed, offlining the computer terminal above Sideswipe. Sunstreaker would invariably get into large brawls with the minibots, individually or as a group. Most often it was Cliffjumper or Brawn, though Huffer was never a good addition to the mix. Sunstreaker could easily terminate the minibots, quite easily in fact. He never did, no matter how often they fought, sometimes in bitter, rage-filled matches echoing down the Ark's corridors. Instead, Sunstreaker had learned how to effectively offline and incapacitate the minibots by ripping out their peripheral circulation energon junctions, or slicing the lines, or shattering the joints around the junctions, effectively destroying their circulating functions. Ratchet had been enraged the first time Brawn was brought to the medbay with his circulation cut by Sunstreaker though he later heard that it had effectively ended what was growing to be a dangerous and nastily vicious fight.

Privately, Ratchet had wondered why Sunstreaker never went forward after severing the lines. The minibots were helpless at that point – Sunstreaker could easily destroy them. He never did, never even continued the fight after incapacitating them, just left, walked away in his rage filled state, alone to deal with his own frustrations and anger and leaving the minibots to gather their own and bring them to Ratchet.

Each time, Ratchet had to file a report with Prowl, who then had the eminently unenviable task of punishing the Lambo twin. The punishments were often tedious; extra duty hours, longer patrols, labor work on the Ark. But in each report, Ratchet had detailed the extent of the medical injuries sustained by the minibots, thanks to Sunstreaker.

"At least I know Prowl reads my reports," Ratchet finished gruffly, moving away from Sideswipe's berthside and heading to his office, determined to keep working on Prowl's condition.

Ratchet paused next to Sunstreaker's vacant chair. "He's going to be fine, Sunny. He'll be online next cycle. You should have gotten some recharge instead of popping high grade and sitting up next to him." Ratchet fixed Sunstreaker, now looking back towards him, with a hard glare, letting him know that he knew, and knew well, what Sunny had done.

Ratchet broke the mutual glare stare Sunstreaker had met him with, moving to his office door.

"Ratchet." Sunstreaker's voice was quiet, contained.

Ratchet turned, exhausted optics dim.

"I've never woken up in the medbay without you with me. Did you really think that I wouldn't be there if you ever onlined here?" Sunstreaker's faceplates were as unreadable as ever, cold and hard.

Ratchet smiled, twisting his mouthplates up slightly in his exhausted state. Someone had noticed. Someone had cared. Even though it was only Sunstreaker, that still lifted Ratchet's sprits, still touched his spark in some small way. "Thanks, Sunny." He turned back to his office doorway.

"Ratchet."

Ratchet sighed, turning back to Sunstreaker once again. "Yes, Sunstreaker?"

"Prowl and Jazz are gone."

* * *

Jazz wished, fervently, that he was dead.

There was too much pain. There was always too much pain. He existed in a whirlwind and hailstorm of pain these cycles, these orns. There was no respite from it, not even now, not even when all he wanted was to lay down and die next to Prowl.

The first thing Jazz was aware of, as always, was the pain, suffusing his frame and settling deep into his systems. He remembered being shot by Thundercracker, the scene flashing before his eyes. Starscream, jacking into Prowl, hurting him, making him scream and cry out in agony. Thundercracker, wrenching his arms back and forcing him to stillness, assisting Starscream in his assault on Prowl. Prowl, his Prowl. Damaged, wounded, Prowl.

Jazz was faintly aware of voices arguing somewhere in the distance. Given the circumstances of his being shot, Jazz was certain he was now a prisoner of the Seekers, possibly with Prowl if he was still alive. What had Starscream done to him? The Seeker had said he'd been waiting for him, waiting for him _there_. How did he know Prowl was going to escape to that beach? At that time? What on Cybertron had Starscream done to Prowl?

Jazz struggled to fully awaken, struggled to pull himself from the peaceful lull of his much-needed recharge.

The voices became more distinct, more audible in his hazy state. The scratchy vocalizer of Starscream was unmistakable. The deep, calm voice arguing with him though startled Jazz to the depth of his spark.

"I do not expect you to understand, Autobot, but this would have been an incredible energon replacement system. I could have revolutionized our energon needs here and on Cybertron. I would have easily been able to replace Megatron!"

"Even for you, Starscream, this plan is extreme. The risks far outweigh the potential rewards. Your plan was riddled with guesswork and conjecture. There was no guarantee of success."

"I knew it would work!"

"Thus far, nothing has gone according to your plan."

"How could _this_ have been foreseen?"

Jazz moaned, still struggling to emerge from his sleepy recharge. He knocked his helm to the side, optics flickering to life to see the lower legs of the red Seeker and a very familiar pair of black and white feet moving quickly towards him.

"Why is _that _ here with you?" Starscream's voice was dripping with scorn.

Jazz's optics flickered once more, onlining a bit stronger as the familiar form of Prowl, his Prowl, dropped down next to him. His hands reached out to cup Jazz's helm around an audial horn, straightening his neck and setting his helm back on the small palm frond set underneath him. Jazz's optic's flickered, not believing the sight in front of him.

Prowl turned back to Starscream. "How is Skywarp?"

Thundercracker was trudging up the beach, his feet slipping on the pebble shale and heading towards their shaded gathering spot around Jazz's immobile body. "He'll be alright. That Autobot friend of yours has a strong elbow. Nearly unhinged 'Warp's jaw joint." Thundercracker frowned, now standing next to Starscream and looking down at Prowl next to Jazz, his hands on the Sobotuer's shoulder and holding his helm horn. "He's collecting right now."

Prowl nodded, stroking Jazz's helm horn once more. "He needs that energon, quickly." Prowl stood, turning his helm to look Starscream directly in his optics and rising to his full height to glare forebodingly into the Seeker's faceplates. "I swear to you, Starscream. If Jazz dies because of this, because of _you,_ Megatron will be the last of your worries."

Those touches on his helm, delicate and gentle, were all Jazz needed to ground himself and bring himself to full, if somewhat hazy, online status. His optics surged online, no longer flickering and took in the shocking scene around him.

He was still on the pebble beach, now off the surf and underneath the palm trees set back from the water. Prowl, Starscream and Thundercracker were standing next to him, Prowl glaring fiercely at the red Seeker who was scowling back at him unhesitatingly. Thundercracker was slightly behind Starscream, also glaring at Prowl. The three of them looked horrible, filthily dirty and dented, scratches covering their frames. In the distance, stretched out on his backplating on the beach with waves lapping at his feet was Skywarp, alone and seemingly offline.

Jazz reached his arm up, struggling even with that simple move. "…Prowl?" He could force out no more than a whisper.

Prowl dropped down to Jazz's side instantly, reaching out and squeezing his reaching hand and bringing it back down to Jazz's side. "Jazz, stay still. You are damaged. You need more energon and recharge for your self repairs to kick in."

Jazz shook his head, confused faceplates saying more than he physically could. "…Prowl… wha'…" Jazz choked on the rest of the words, vocalizer catching and choking, his throat dry from lack of fluids and lubrications.

Prowl sighed, long and deeply as Starscream sneered down at the two of them from above. "Jazz… There are some things I need to tell you."

* * *

Skyfire knew - intellectually - that Earth was big.

He knew it in his processor, knew that the mass and circumference of the blue and white planet was far greater than that of Cybertron. He knew that it took him, even with his overlarge size and powerful space thrusters, several joors to orbit the planet entirely.

He knew it was a big planet, full of the vastness of organic nature and empty, wild spaces. He knew the humans had spread out over the surface, though not entirely, still leaving certain areas devoid of life and empty of the simple contact of lifeform to lifeform.

He knew all of this.

It was entirely unhelpful though as he lay in the craggy crevasse, twisted and disfigured from his crash landing. He was utterly, entirely, unspeakably, alone. This was one of those barren corners of the earth, craggy rocks and high elevation mountain passes making human settlement a near impossibility, and for those that did, a permanent technological disadvantage and separation from the rest of the world. He hadn't heard anything, not a bird, not even a goat, in cycles. His energon was low, dangerously low, all systems offline except for his critical life support functions. He didn't even have the energy to repair his damaged comms beacon, shot out by the Decepticon cannon pulse rifle on the ground underneath him. The smoking hole in his internals and the pain of the shot distracted him from the battle before.

He was entirely alone. He was going to die alone, stuck once again on an isolated, barren stretch of this hostile planet.

Skyfire thought back to his team. Everything had been going too well. Bumblebee was in his element, commanding with grace and style and interacting with the human commandos with no small amount of awe. It was difficult to say though who had more respect and awe for the other – the humans for Bumblebee and the team, or Bumblebee for the humans.

They were setting out to investigate the mysteriously intermittent Decepticon signals emanating from the Afghanistan and Central Asia region. The American military was convinced that their own enemies were utilizing Decepticon technology, possibly even allying with the Decepticons. Prime wasn't convinced. The Decepticons were notoriously hateful of humans, preferring rather to waste entire cities than utilize human technology or assistance. Still, Decepticon activity was Decepticon activity, and they were going to check it out and help the humans as well.

It had gone so well.

The terrain was horrific. Trailbreaker, Beachcomber, Windcharger and Brawn were rollicking along the terrain, Beachcomber happily crawling around boulders and the rocky cliff faces with glee. Trailbreaker was more laid back, struggling along with the human vehicles to navigate the crags and outcroppings. Finally, settling into the trail of the signal, they abandoned their mostly vehicle forms and continued on foot.

The Decepticons were lying in wait.

Skyfire, who had been flying low and slow over the group, pinging ahead for signals and radar contacts, had only had a brief astrosecond of warning before his signals were jammed and he was flying blind. He squawked out to the team, shouting for them to take cover as he dove low into the mountainside himself just as the Decepticons opened fire.

The battle was short and overwhelming.

Skyfire was shot down nearly instantaneously, careening up and away before his engines petered out and he fell, hard, back to the Earth some distance from the battle. He saw Windcharger dashing out to rescue Beachcomber who had been hit with an explosive device on the road, several humans down with him as well. Trailbreaker and 'Bee were trying to fire back and find cover as Brawn was shielding the humans from their exposed position.

He hard screams, the horrific sounds of metal crashing and screeching against metal, explosions, and then silence. Horrible silence.

Skyfire was left alone. He knew, knew deep inside, that if his team had managed to survive somehow, survive stumbling upon what seemed to be the entire Decepticon army, then they would have come for him and they would have tried to find him.

His continued aloneness seemed to speak to only one outcome to the battle.

* * *

Jazz had tried to remain online, tried to stay out of recharge to hear Prowl's explanation and to understand just how and why his world was suddenly upended, again. He couldn't shake the impending stasis though and couldn't will much-needed energon into his systems. His optics flickered as he reached again for Prowl's hand.

"Frag, he needs more energon." Prowl turned to Thundercracker. "Does Skywarp have anything yet?"

Thundercracker shook his helm. "No, he's only just started this collection. It will be another few joors before he has anything to use."

Starscream piped up, sneering again. "You poured nearly everything he had with him into his system. He must be a weak model if you can still function after your drive and he's near termination."

Prowl had emptied the fluid bags of oil, coolant and energon that Jazz had carried with him into Jazz's lines, saving only a bare few ounces for his own use. Prowl's optics flashed angrily up to Starscream. "He started following me already damaged. This was near suicide for him."

Starscream merely sneered, secure in his own knowledge that the Autobot was indeed a weaker model and entirely beneath his own superiority. Prowl stood, looking between the two Seekers. "One of you needs to give him energon."

Starscream balked, offended at the idea. He started to squawk in protest but Thundercracker stepped forward, placing his arm in front of Starscream. "Use mine. Starscream is still damaged and needs repairs."

Starscream hissed angrily at Thundercracker. "I am not weak."

Prowl ignored Starscream, motioning for Thundercracker to sit beside the now fading on and offline Jazz. Thundercracker, the Seeker's barely capable mech medic, pulled out his transfer cord and spikes. They weren't clean, not after the three of them had been spiking and sharing energon for so long, but it would have to do. Thundercracker found the line in Jazz's upper arm, instructing Prowl to hold pressure for a moment as he started the outflow line on his own arm first, then spiked the receiving end directly into Jazz's own line. Prowl remained near Jazz's helm, looking down into his visor with worried optics.

It took several breems for the correct amount of energon to flow from Thundercracker to Jazz, but Jazz began to stabilize and finally began to normalize. Thundercracker broke the transfer, removing the spikes from both of their arms and wrapping up the cord in his subspace. He moved to sit next to Starscream, leaning dizzily against a palm tree near the two Autobots.

Prowl was gently stroking Jazz's helm and horns when Jazz onlined again. He smiled down at his friend warmly, delighted to finally see some strength and light behind Jazz's visor. "Hey, Jazz," he said softly.

Jazz's optics searched Prowl's hard beneath his visor for several astroseconds. "What's goin' on, Prowl?" Jazz's voice was laced with confused fear. "Are ya back?" Jazz's optics flashed to the two Seekers under the palm tree, watching the two Autobots.

"I am. I'm back, Jazz." Prowl breathed in, uncharacteristically nervous. "Thanks to Starscream." Prowl inclined his helm in the direction of the red Seeker, never taking his optics from Jazz's faceplates.

Jazz recoiled, flinching backwards as if physically struck. "Wha' are you talkin' about, thanks to Screamer?"

Prowl tried to sooth Jazz, white hands stroking down his arm to squeeze his black hand as he continued on. "I'm back, Jazz, but I'm not … alone. There's been an accident…" Prowl trailed off, entirely stumped as to how to explain to Jazz just what had happened.

Starscream had crept over, now standing behind Prowl and looking down at Jazz. "Accident," he sneered. "It was no accident. My science was perfect. This was merely an unexplained variable." Starscream lorded over Jazz, smug satisfaction evident in his frame. "Your precious Autobot friend has something of mine, something I discovered. While I am not eager for its return, it is something that is very highly valuable."

"Decaorns ago I started researching a new and vastly superior energon conversion source. I needed a new technology to finally overthrow Megatron. The Decepticons follow the strong. If I could deliver a new and better source of energon, they would _finally_ follow _me_.

"Iridium is shockingly rare on this disgusting mudball. It is exceedingly difficult to find. Naturally, it was the one ore that showed the greatest promise in my energon conversion tests. I tried to use the natural ores that I found, or that I took from these humans. However, the fleshy humans attempt to refine the ores themselves and never succeed in attaining quantum purity."

Jazz had shifted himself into a seated position, leaning against Prowl's form beside him for balance and no small measure of comfort. "You've been after iridium before. What are you tryin' to do?"

Thundercracker groaned from his lean against the base of the palm tree. "Don't get him started, please. That geeky Decepticon can go on for orns."

Starscream glared backwards at his trinemate. "You are benefiting from this 'geeky Decepticon,' Thundercracker."

"Benefiting? I'm wasting away in exile, banished by Megatron for assisting you! How am I benefiting?"

Jazz's processor whirled. "Banished?" He couldn't keep up with what was happening, with what they were trying to tell him. All he cared about was the feeling of Prowl solidly beside him and holding him up.

"Do try to follow along, Autobot. I know it's difficult for your smaller processor to grasp." Prowl glared hard at Starscream, breathing out forcefully in a displeased venting rush. "Yes," Starscream continued, "We did try to harvest iridium from this planet's core before." Starscream paused, unwilling to acknowledge the existence or to speak the name even of his old friend and research partner, unearthed from the artic ice during that same mission. "We failed. The iridium had already superbonded to the molten iron in the core and Megatron moved on to another energon source."

"The iridium I sampled though, gathered _myself_, showed the best promise for success. Within the quantum fields of that sample, there was a latent energy signal, the ghosting of a former sparkforce. None of the human samples were able to match it at all. My refinement was pure."

Starscream, who had been working himself into an excited and passionate frenzy, began pacing in front of Jazz's seated form. "Do you have any idea," he began, whirling suddenly on the two Autobots, clenching his fist in front of him, "what that could mean?"

Starscream didn't wait for an answer, though Thundercracker, who had been leaning forward and listening to Starscream's heavily abbreviated explanation to the Autobots, threw himself back against the palm tree base with a loud sigh, having heard it all before. "If the iridium can function as an energon conversion source internally, and is capable of manipulating and interfacing with the quantum fields of spark energy, then it could be possible to create a system of self-contained fueling. The kinetic and electrical energies of the spark could power and fuel a mechs own internal systems. Perfect energy conservation, perfect maximization of resources and potential."

"Tha' only works on mechs that have sparks, Starcreep. Yer out." Jazz still felt as if Starscream wasn't telling him everything, still felt as if the Decepticon was holding something back. Though with Starscream, that was always the case.

Starscream straightened up, sighing in frustration and twisting his faceplates down at Jazz. "Illuminating, Autobot," he hissed. "I did succeed in proving that purely refined iridium ores and spark force energies can be entangled at the quantum level."

"That's where all your problems began." Prowl's voice was low, contained, paying careful attention to every word of Starscream's explanation.

"Do you know where we are, Autobot?" Starscream ignored Prowl, continuing to direct his scathing questions at Jazz.

Jazz searched his databanks, trying to piece together the sensor readings from their frantic drive south from the Ark. "South, in one of the other human countries. I'm not sure which." Jazz shook his head.

Starscream pointed out towards the beach and the ocean beyond. "Humans are insignificant. There, right there, and underneath you, and all around us, is the remnant of an impact crater from a collision with an interstellar object 65 million years ago. It stretches into the ocean and back halfways across this spit of land. We are near the center."

Jazz gaped. "What caused it?"

"The humans claim an asteroid did." Starscream looked into Prowl's optics. "We now know that's not true. It was a ship, a Cybertronian ship."

"It was two ships, actually." Prowl looked down at Jazz, confused faceplates showing beneath his visor. "From the very beginning of our time, when we overthrew the Quintessons and took back our planet. This is where they crashed, the Cybertron ship that went after the last fleeing Quintessons."

Jazz shook his head, pushing away from Prowl's side and sitting back, looking him in the optics. "Prowl, that's myth. Tha's ancient legend. Sparklin' tales. It's not real."

Starscream sneered, scratchy, scorn-filled laughter exploding out of him. Prowl stared down at Jazz, optics burning with intent and meaning, painfilled. Thundercracker leaned forward once more, leaning his elbows against his thigh armor and arching his optic ridges as he watched the scene unfold with a sly smile.

Prowl shook his head slowly, never taking his optics from Jazz. "It's real, Jazz." He sighed, offlining his optics briefly before looking back into Jazz's visor. "The spark energy that was in the iridium Starscream found were the sparks of the crew from that ship."

Jazz frowned. "65 million years later? No, that's impossible. They shouldda gone to the Well of All Sparks anyway, not get stuck here in the dirt."

Starscream interjected once more, his intellectual superiority and smug satisfaction pouring forth once more. "I do not expect you to understand, Autobot, but it is actually an elegant process of quantum entanglement. The collision, first of the two ships into the solar system and then down to the surface of this planet created a massive explosion that broke apart the atomic chains of everything within it. In the split of an astrosecond, the atomic forms of the spark energies and the iridium metals of the starship hulls merged into entangled particle pairs. They are joined at the quantum level, inseparable. There wasn't a spark to travel to the Well of All Sparks. It had become a part of this entangled pair; it's not simply a spark, and it is not simply an ore either."

"But 65 _million_ years…"

"In the quantum state, time has no meaning. The future and past are intertwined."

Jazz turned to Prowl in disbelief, searching for some helpful explanation, some sign that this was somehow going to make sense. Prowl was staring at him hard, faceplates worried. It unnerved Jazz, seeing Prowl so intently nervous towards him. "I don' understand… how does this effect you?"

Thundercracker interjected again sarcastically, cutting of Starscream's answer. "The most brilliant part of Starscream's plan was to use his own spark to harvest the spark-energized iridium ore."

"_Seemingly_ spark-energized," Starscream seethed. "I didn't know it had actual spark energies within its quantum sub-structure. I wouldn't have internalized it if I did." Starscream had discovered that the best and most efficient way to extract the potentially spark-energized iridium was to utilize the power of a mech's own spark to excite the ore until it was malleable to extraction. It was a measure of the absolute dedication Starscream had to his cause, to overthrowing Megatron, that he didn't think twice about baring his own spark during the collection process.

After the fact, and when it was all going so horribly wrong, Skywarp had very unhelpfully commented that the whole extraction had seemed much like spark bonding. That had earned him an angry beating from Thundercracker and a near-hysterical assault from Starscream.

"You brought another spark into your spark chamber?" Jazz couldn't believe the madness that Starscream was capable of, all in the name of the Decepticons.

"Disemsparked spark energy, yes. It leapt out of the iridium ore and into my own spark, where it stayed. Until Prowl took it from me!"

"I took nothing from you, Starscream. You attacked me." Prowl finally turned his attention from Jazz, finally let up on his intent staring at Jazz during the entire exchange.

Thundercracker, now recovered from his energon transfer to Jazz, hauled himself to his feet and walked toward the three. "Prowl's right, Screamer. You have no one to blame for that but yourself. Though I must say, I am glad that it's gone."

Starscream wheeled on Thundercracker. "Actually, it's _your _fault, idiot. I was constructing data files, firewalls, subsets of programming, ways to contain his energy inside of me. Do you have _any_ idea how we could have used him against Megatron?" Starscream stalked closer to Thundercracker, voice dropping lower, sliding smooth over the dangerous tones. "But no, you had to be impatient. You two didn't like what I had done, what I had accomplished. You two decided to 'get my aggression out.' You two decided to take me to find an Autobot patrol to destroy." Starscream slid his optics sideways, staring at Prowl. "Yours."

Thundercracker held his ground, never breaking his stare with his trinemate. "I was tired of being your punching bag. So was Skywarp."

"The aggression wouldn't have lasted much longer! I would have contained it. I would have controlled it," Starscream hissed back at Thundercracker. "Now, all my work, all my programming is in the Autobot's processor." Starscream glared at Prowl.

"Your programming is perfect, Starscream. You've identified and collated his forces away from my vital systems, setting him up in an accessible and subordinate autonomous system. He's there, but he's not overwhelming like before. We're not struggling for control anymore." Prowl nodded his head to Starscream once, a silent thanks.

Starscream wasn't expecting the compliment and was clearly unbalanced by it. He covered by snapping back at Prowl. "You can barely access the peripheral functions of my programming." He turned back to Thundercracker.

Jazz had had enough. He struggled up from his sitting position, pulling himself up with the palm tree trunk and ignoring Prowl's outstretched hand. "Who the slag are you three talkin' about?"

Starscream sighed, glaring at Prowl. "I told you he wouldn't be able to understand."

Prowl was shadowing Jazz's every move. He hovered, worried concern etched across his faceplates and holdng his arms out around Jazz as the Saboteur leaned himself more steadily against the palm tree. Jazz glared into Prowl's optics. Prowl sighed, dropping his arms back down to his side. "The spark that Starscream extracted was Pax's." Jazz began to shake his helm from side to side, never breaking optic contact with Prowl. "When Starscream and I fought on that patrol, a circuit was made between us, and when he shot me with the null ray…" Prowl inhaled, shakily. "Pax transferred to me."

Skywarp was trudging back up the pebble beach just in time to hear Jazz's panicked outbursts, angry cries tearing through their isolated beachy jungle. Prowl had been determined to explain everything, everything, to his friend. Starscream felt this was a waste of time and resources, preferring instead to leave the damaged Autobot on the beach. Prowl was having none of that, first ignoring, then downright verbally attacking Starscream for the suggestion. It was that over everything else which finally solidified in both Thundercracker and Skywarp's minds that everything Starscream had said really was happening. That aggression, that promise of violence, was unfortunately familiar.

::Are you alright?:: Thundercracker's welcome presence filled Skywarp's spark.

::Yes. Just switching out these collectors:: Skywarp sent a tendril of smugness across their bond at seeing Jazz's panicked faceplates and his shaking head while Prowl tried futilely to reach out to him, both physically and verbally. Starscream stood back from the two near Thundercracker, watching Prowl.

As soon as Prowl had recovered from the data transfer, he and Starscream seemed to instantly understand something unspoken between them. At least, neither tried to kill each other on sight which was a dramatic step up from every previous encounter. They fell into a nearly, for Starscream, companionable rhythm with each other; Starscream had sneered and glowered, Prowl had taken a moment to sort through the massive amount of programming code Starscream had pushed over the data jack to him. It helped him sort and arrange the alien presence in his processor and systems.

Pax, the mythical, hero of Cybertron pre-history that every sparkling heard about, was supposed to be a formidable mech. Depending on which mythology text you read, Pax was either an overly aggressive freedom fighter who dreamed of nothing but Cybertron's freedom, waxing poetical about their plight at every turn, or was a half-deranged, violent and destructive mech who cared only for vengeance and destruction of the overlording Quintessons. Thundercracker and Skywarp had never given much thought to the myth past their youngling years, never once considered that it could possibly be true. They never wondered who the real Pax would be, if the mythologies weren't true, or what his personality, so larger than life in their stories, would be like in reality.

But when Starscream had collapsed, frantic and shouting that something wasn't right after returning to the Nemesis with their first test extraction of spark energy from the iridium ores, Thundercracker and Skywarp had had to face the uncomfortable truth that everything they knew about their own history was wrong.

Jazz had to face that now.

Skywarp could only wonder at the havoc that been unleashed on the Autobots when Prowl had taken the Pax spark energies from Starscream during their battle. Starscream had changed, slowly at first just after he internalized the spark energies. Little things were out of sorts, then transferring to the larger and less easily hidden changes in behavior and attitude. He had been less obsequious, more confrontational. He stood up to Soundwave over a tactical decision and won. There was a confident air around him, one that his trinemates had put down to his satisfaction at his secret energon research project.

The aggression started slowly as well, increasing in tandem with his confidence until one cycle Starscream just lost it. He and Megatron had had another confrontation over tactics. Starscream bitterly loathed Megatron's new plan and felt it was a betrayal to the entire Decepticon cause. He wasn't shy about saying so either and not in front of all the other Decepticons. Megatron hadn't put up with it.

Rage filled and humiliated, something snapped in Starscream. His aggression knew no boundaries, no limits. He cajoled Thundercracker into a sparring match, nearly tearing his limbs off, then irritated Skywarp into a similar match. When his trinemates refused to spar with him again, the aggression built inside of Starscream until he was vibrating with the force of it, nearly shaking apart with his poisoned hatred. All it had taken was a snappy comment from Skywarp and Starscream had come entirely undone. Thundercracker, racing to his trinemates aid, was certain, dead certain, that Starscream was going to kill Skywarp.

The rage and aggression wasn't the worst part, not for Thundercracker. It was uncomfortable and required him to use his very paltry skills as a mech medic on his trinemates, but it certainly wasn't the worst. What Thundercracker couldn't shake from his processor, what haunted his recharge, were the images of Starscream, curled in a ball and rocking on the floor, crying out again and again for Switch.

It had terrified him and Skywarp, seeing their trinemate and Air Commander so inconsolably pained. When Starscream had turned spark-breakingly sad optics to Thundercracker, reaching out tentatively to caress his faceplates and whispering Switch's name, Thundercracker had nearly felt his own spark breaking. Starscream was never affectionate, never showed his care or concern for his trinemates. They had tried, hard, to reach out to their wayward bondmate, to try to bring him deeper into their berth and their sparks. Starscream was entirely uninterested in any intimacy with his bondmates.

Which made it all the more spark-breaking to both Thundercracker and Skywarp to finally, finally have Starscream reaching for them, need and want deep in his touch and his optics, only to be hesitatingly, fearfully asked if they were both Switch.

Thundercracker had begged, pleaded with Starscream to figure out what went wrong with his energon experiments and to fix whatever had happened. He was certain something had gone wrong, though he wasn't smart enough to know what. Starscream, in one of his ever-rarer moments of lucidity, had agreed, disappearing into his lab for three cycles straight.

They never, none of them, expected to hear what Starscream had to say when he emerged finally, shell shocked and numb. The trinemates huddled together, whispering stories about their myths and pre-history and listening to Starscream tell the truth about what had happened. It was uncomfortable, frightening, thinking that Starscream wasn't just Starscream anymore. He had another being inside of him, another Cybertronian. But not just any Cybertronian.

Starscream started writing code, determined to integrate the new spark into his own systems, no matter the protestations of his trinemates.

Megatron moved forward with his new plan, enraging Starscream again. The more contact he had with Megatron, the more irrational and unstable he became. Skywarp, having learned his lesson the last time, stayed far away from their quarters and from Starscream. Thundercracker was equally concerned that Starscream was one wrong optic look away from mass murder.

He suggested finding the Autobots, attacking a patrol, letting loose their aggression that way. Starscream had readily, eagerly agreed.

When they came back, dragging the nearly-dead frame of their Air Commander and shouting for help, Megatron was decidedly displeased. It all came out then, what Starscream had done. The energon experiments, the iridium ore mining, the spark energy readings in the ores. Megatron, well used to Starscream's schemes and plots and never giving him half credit for any success, merely waited till Starscream was back online to voice his displeasure.

Without the spark energies in his frame, without the energies of Pax suffusing his processor, Starscream had no proof to show Megatron. Their leader was entirely uninterested in Starscream's lab work, his data analysis, or his code writing. Megatron was furious that Starscream had wasted their resources and their time. Though Starscream bitterly denied it, Megatron was certain it was all part of a grander plan to eliminate him completely. The more Starscream protested, the more certain Megatron became.

The end, when it came, was as explosive as Skywarp would have expected it to be. Megatron, finally through with the machinations and schemes of Starscream, banished him, shooting him in the chest with his massive cannon. Starscream had screamed, falling to the ground in agony, still to weak from his injuries to fight back. He tried though, clawing at the floor to try to drag himself up as Megatron laughed, shooting him again.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were there, of course, never far from their trinemate when he was with Megaton. They were frozen at the sight in front of them, shock and pain vibrating across their bond. Megatron turned to them, pointing his cannon again at Starscream. "He is banished," their leader had said. "I want to never see him again. You have only an astrosecond to remove him from my sight!"

What could they have done? Though Starscream wasn't in love with them, not like they loved him, and though he never showed them any affection, though he was as cold and sparkless as Megatron, he was still theirs, an integral part of their own systems and identities. They never thought not to scoop his body up and fly away.

Thundercracker had used all of his strained skills to try to repair Starscream, sharing energon between the three until Starscream, healing and bitching about being bored and demanding something to do, had created their solar energon converters. They were horrible substitutes for the real thing, not capable at all of fueling their needs entirely, barely even half way. But, they kept the Seekers going, kept them alive in exile though Starscream never fully healed. Thundercracker didn't have the skills for it.

Starscream insisted they land here, insisted they remain in the isolated beachy jungle. There was a small, rocky island they sometimes hid on as well, no more than a few barren rocks in the middle of the rough seas. Even in his weakened state, they didn't argue with Starscream and still accepted his leadership.

Starscream was obsessed with Prowl. They were waiting here for him, he said. They were waiting for the Autobot 2IC. He wouldn't explain why, wouldn't tell his trinemates anything more. When Skywarp finally pestered Starscream enough, asking again and again why Prowl was coming here, to this deserted strip of land, Starscream had snapped back at him, angrily telling him that this place was where Starscream wanted to be, and thus, it was where Prowl would want to be as well.

Starscream might as well not have answered Skywarp for all the clarity he had given his trinemates.

Finally, in the middle of the night cycle, staring up at the stars and listening to Starscream shakily tell his stories of exploration and discovery before the war did Starscream offer a reason for their presence there. "Megatron wouldn't listen to me." Starscream had hissed. It was a familiar rant, an often-repeated phrase. "I am not what is dangerous to him right now. There's something worse out there. And it's coming."

* * *

Tracks cursed, violently. He had another rock stuck in his foot plating, again. He was sick and tired of the rocky shale, the sheer cliffs, and he sensor ghosts he was currently chasing.

Prime had called back to the Ark, shortly after Jazz and Prowl's dramatic escape, asking for Tracks to join him in at the US Army base halfway around the world. Prime thought he had a lead on the missing team, thought they might have found something. The terrain was hazardous and dangerous though. It was also very near where they thought the original team had disappeared and where the Decepticon signals had been pinging before they very quickly vanished after 'Bee's and the others disappeared. Prime didn't want to risk an all-out assault, didn't want to chance any more losses without more concrete data. He hoped that the lead the humans had, currently scrambling over the rocky cliff face and traversing the canyon to get to the unexplained sensor readings deep in the canyon's crevasse, would blessedly be an alive member of 'Bee's team.

Prime had requested Tracks, both for his endurance and stubbornness and for his fighting ability should he indeed run into the Decepticons again, isolated and alone out in the bare wilderness of the planet. Tracks really wished Prime had asked Hound to join him. Hound would have loved this, loved the scrambling and the bouldering, loved the wild climbs and dangerous crosses. Tracks was less impressed.

However, Prime had his reasons, and Tracks had to agree that it made some small bit of sense. Hound wouldn't be able to survive out here on his own if he was attacked by the Decepticons. Tracks had a fighting chance. A very good fighting chance.

Shaking loose the sharp piece of rock embedded in his ankle joint, Tracks pressed onward. He was near where he had finally triangulated the signal to have originated from. The first couple of times he had tried to hone in on the signal, Tracks had emerged on empty air, bare spaces, or sheer cliff faces, devoid of any mech, Autobot or 'Con. Immediately sensing a Decepticon trap, he had lain low, waiting. Waiting, it became imminently clear, for nothing. The craggy terrain was playing havoc with the sensors, bouncing and refracting the heat and energy readings every which way. When he finally zeroed in on the signal, plotting his best and shortest course to the source took him directly through several treacherous canyons and ravines.

Tracks was not pleased.

Now though, he was nearly there. Once he crested this ridge, all he had to do was descend into the canyon and locate the metallic ores of the mech's protoform that he had picked up on. Trudging the last few steps up, he dropped down to his chest and peered over the ridge with his optic sensor expanders, sweeping the canyon below him.

Shocked surprise instantly jolted through his frame. He never needed to have even put on the sensor expanders and he ripped them off immediately, not believe what he had just seen. Quickly, he opened his internal comm to Prime, boosted via a hastily hotwired and networked satellite relay courtesy of the US Army. "Prime, Tracks. You wont believe what I found."

There, buried in the side of the craggy mountain face and nearly torn in half was the unmistakably huge form of Skyfire, still locked in his alt mode, a giant, black-charred hole in his undercarriage.

* * *

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to extract Skyfire.

Tracks had to hand it to the humans. Once they had the exact location and accurately coordinated heavy airlift and ground support, Skyfire's extraction simply became a matter of digging him out of the rocky mountainside and affixing him to the lift cables under a squadron of CH-47 heavy lift helicopters. Tracks had a moment of apprehension when the Army engineers started planting explosives all around the cliff face over Skyfire, thinking automatically back to Wheeljack's unholy glee at anything explosive, but was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see that the humans were much, much more careful with their detonations. A small hailstorm of rocks was all that rained down on Skyfire, though the cliff face had nearly disappeared around his nosecone.

Prime was there too, immediately forcing his way out to Tracks' location as soon as he heard that Skyfire was found. He had his own human Army protection squad as well, a gift of the Department of Defense after losing his mechs on a mission they were commanding. Prime seemed helpless as to what to do with the squad of humans, scrambling to keep up with his large footsteps and fast pace and determined to always keep him in their sights.

Once Skyfire was free and the choppers started their ascent, Tracks heard Prime sigh, feeling a small bit of the crushing worry that had enveloped their leader dissipate slightly. Skyfire was still alive, his spark still strong though most of his major systems were offline. He'd need a great deal of work, much more than was able to be performed here. Prime hadn't requested a medic join him. It was a macabre acknowledgment that with the amount of time that had passed, any mech still needing a medic for emergency life saving procedures was already gone. Skyfire was on his way back to the Ark, first via the Air Force base in Afghanistan and then back around the world to Ratchet. Hoepfully they'd have some answers soon.

Tracks looked at Prime, following the large form of Skyfire across the sky. Prime hadn't commented, hadn't said anything about Prowl and Jazz's escape, hadn't even reacted visibly when Ironhide had told him of their actions. He had immediately asked after Sideswipe and Ratchet, clear relief at their well-being evident.

Prime had always, always, relied on Jazz and Prowl. They were his best and strongest officers, his lieutenants in everything. Ironhide was his closest friend, a mech to relax with, to share the good times with, a mech to not be Prime with. The two officers though were the mechs Prime turned to when he needed advice, when he needed guidance. The officers in turn served Prime unfailingly, always there to support his leadership, always trusted to carry out his missions. The Autobots' leadership were as much an amalgamation of the three of them as it was a single Prime. Prime's leadership style had been uniquely different than the Prime's before him, one that most mechs accepted unquestioningly. Now though, with Jazz and Prowl missing and who most mechs feared dead, what would change?

Tracks couldn't image what it must feel like, to feel so helpless towards another, so utterly unable to do anything. He much preferred to not entangle himself with such messy bonds, such emotional attachments. Watching the implosion when it all fell apart was always, always painful to watch. He never had a desire to experience it himself.

* * *

Jazz struggled to understand, truly understand, everything he had been told.

He had struggled awake from his recharge, confused and disoriented, seeing Prowl and the Seeker Decepticons interacting as it were normal and natural. He couldn't crush the wave of revulsion and of shocked horror at seeing Prowl and Starscream calmly speaking to one another. It turned his tanks, made his armor tingle.

Their explanation only made it worse.

This couldn't, couldn't be happening. Myths from history, from before time, didn't come true. They weren't true. They weren't.

And yet, Prowl was staring at him again with those too bright optics and that hard look, pleading with him to please understand. It was almost too much for Jazz, just thinking about what was happening, but looking back up at Prowl stopped his whirling, tumbling thoughts. How much worse was this for Prowl? Prowl, his Prowl… who now had an ancient Cybertronian spark embedded in his processor, in his systems, in his self.

Jazz grabbed Prowl's hand, hanging limply at his side. Jazz had pushed all of his offers of help away, struggling to stand and argue on his own, not wanting Prowl's help while he tried to figure out what was happening around him. Prowl had tried to reach out for Jazz and touch him, steady his shoulders, touch his armor. Jazz pushed it all off, rolling between shock and anger to confusion and sadness.

Jazz intertwined their fingers, tugging slightly and pulling Prowl closer to him. He still wasn't steady enough to stand on his own feet and still had to lean against the sticky palm tree. Prowl snapped his helm from their fingers up to Jazz's helm in surprise, looking shockingly hopeful for the first time at Jazz.

"Are ya all right?"

Prowl smiled, weakly. "I'm much better than I was."

Starscream, who had left them to help Skywarp transfer the collected and converted energon to their hastily rigged storage cubes before sticking the solar collectors back on the purple Seeker's wings and sending him back out to the beach, rejoined them, sneering at their conjoined hands. Thundercracker was silent off to the side, watching the two Autobots with an unreadable expression.

Prowl waited for Starscream to stop, looking hard into the Seeker's optics. Jazz took a shaky breath, willing himself to calm his visceral reaction to the red Seeker. Starscream after all had saved Prowl's life. That didn't make him any easier to talk to. Their last discussion had left the both of them shouting curses at each other and weak from lack of energy until Thundercracker and Prowl had separated them physically.

"Tell me again, how do ya know that these Quintessons are comin'?"

Starscream sighed heavily, crossing his arms, his null rays sticking out akimbo. "It's a part of the same process of quantum entanglement that created this mess. The quantum structure of the Quintessons was also scattered and intertwined within the others." Starscream paused, seeing Jazz's blank faceplates. "Shall I put it in terms you'll better understand?" The Seeker's voice was mocking, full of scorn.

"Think of a bonded pair. Or, your blasted Lamborghini twins." Starscream ground the last bit out through gritted denta, squeezing his hand into a fist, hatred for the Lambo twins seeping out of him at every junction. "They share a bond, a quantum bond. Their sparks are entangled. Their essences, their personalities. Who they are is incomplete without the other. When they communicate over the bond, it's not as if they are using an internal communications array. The bond is timeless, unstoppable, unbreakable. Distance has no meaning."

Thundercracker shifted uncomfortably. Hearing Starscream talk about bonding, about what they were all supposed to share was stabbing him deep inside, cold and unwelcome.

Starscream continued. "They communicate using quantum teleportation. The entire essence of themselves, the whole of their being, is transported, back and forth on the quantum level. It's the same for all bondmates."

Skywarp suddenly filled Thundercracker's spark and processor, sarcastic and bitter, but warmly welcomed by the blue Seeker. ::Fragger.::

::Wish he'd open up his bond to us.:: Even though they both wished for it, they knew it was never going to happen. It just wouldn't.

"Are ya sayin' that you're now bonded to the Quintessons?" Jazz was still working his processor through the situation, still working to understand.

"No. But when we 'awakened' the spark energies here, the entangled nature of the Quintessons ship and our ship ensured that they now know about what happened here. They know what we did, both back then, and now." Starscream looked to Prowl. "And they are not forgiving."

Prowl held the Seeker's gaze. Both of them were reflecting on the understanding and memories of Pax that they both had accessed, the feelings and emotions bubbling just under the controlled surface, the knowledge they could tap into with barely a stray thought. The Quintessons had terrified Starscream when he had finally tapped into the memories of Pax within him. They utterly terrified him. That shocking horror and fear had seeped across the data jack, worked its way into the programming that Starscream had forced into Prowl. Prowl understood his fear, entirely. He shared it.

Prowl lowered his helm briefly before looking back to Jazz. He squeezed their still=entangled fingers once. "They're coming, Jazz. They're on their way to Earth to find out what happened here, and then to Cybertron. They will try to destroy us once more." Prowl voice was hard. There was no room to doubt his words. Fear outlined his optics though they stared into Jazz with conviction.

Jazz's denta dropped open. He had never, never in his life seen Prowl this concerned, this frightened, not of anything. Not of the Ark mission, not of launching into space with no plan. Not of facing the Decepticons in battle, not when they were ambushed and attacked and outnumbered, not of anything. Jazz didn't fully understand it, didn't understand the fear that threaded the Seeker and Prowl together, didn't understand their connection. It angered him, that understanding between them. He hated it, just as he hated the red Seeker.

Seeing Prowl this concerned though, seeing Prowl scared moved Jazz, stirred something inside of him. If Prowl acknowledged this danger, if Prowl was worried… That was enough for Jazz.

"What'r we goin' to do?"

Surprisingly, it was Starscream who answered first. "We must stop them. We cannot let them destroy Cybertron again." Prowl, Jazz and Thundercracker all stared at him as Starscream smiled slyly, lipplates twisting upwards with smug satisfaction. "And I have a plan."


	8. Chapter 8

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 8

* * *

Skyfire onlined looking straight into a very familiar, and very welcome, pair of optics.

"You're taking flying lessons from Fireflight, aren't you?" Silverbolt smiled down at Skyfire lying back on Ratchet's medbay berth.

Skyfire's optics widened, smile stretching over his huge faceplates. "You found me!" He pushed himself up into a seated position unsteadily. Silverbolt reached out to help him as he leaned gingerly back against the medical terminal behind his berth. Skyfire looked around the medbay, meeting Hoist and Ratchet's optics as they conferred over a large piece of electrical equipment. Based on the size and char marks, Skyfire guessed it to be one of his own internals. "Where's the rest of the team?" He turned confused faceplates back to Skyfire.

Silverbolt frowned, optics growing dim. "They were only able to find you."

Skyfire froze. "Are they…" His voice trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

Silverbolt shook his helm. "We don't know. They can't find any trace of them." He reached out for the large shuttle's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "What happened?"

"We were ambushed. It's not just a few Decepticons out there. It was nearly all of them." Skyfire shook his head, looking down into his hands. "I've got to tell Prime." He tried to stand and shift off the berth just as Hoist and Ratchet walked over.

"Ah, ah! Get on back up there!" Hoist motioned for the shuttle to scoot backward up on the berth, smiling gently.

"I need to talk to Prime. It's important."

"We need to rebuild your comms systems. Your internals took quite a beating. You also need more energon for your self repair systems to finish their work." Ratchet handed Skyfire a blank data pad. "Prime does want to hear what happened though. Start detailing everything you can remember."

Skyfire nodded. That wouldn't be a problem. His problem wasn't what he couldn't remember; it was that he remembered too much. He heard in his processor, over and over, the sounds of the battle, 'Bee's voice over comms directing them to protect the humans, the humans chatter back and forth, calling out fire orders and calls for the medic. He shook his helm, trying to clear the sensor echoes from his data banks.

"Silverbolt, can you bring some energon from the Rec Room?" Hoist was pushing Skyfire back down to the berth and laying him flat again. Skyfire's large size meant he actually took up two whole berths pushed together underneath him. The berths were already overlarge; the minibots often looked like sparkling play-bots when lying out on top of them.

Silverbolt nodded, trying to smile reassuringly at Skyfire as he moved towards the door. "I'll be right back, big guy."

Skyfire nodded back before diving into pouring out his memories onto his data pad as Hoist started his repairs.

* * *

Jazz laughed derisively. "Ya can't be serious, Starcreep. Ya actually think that we'll follow one of your plans? After this?"

Prowl looked similarly unimpressed, arching his optic ridges at Starscream and twitching his doorwings slightly at Jazz's comment. Thundercracker snorted as Skywarp's presence filled his processor, laughing hysterically.

"Fools," Starscream spat out. He turned to Prowl, squaring his shoulder joints and twitching his own wings upward. "I have what you need. And I am willing to give it to you in exchange for a few assurances."

Prowl frowned slightly, folding his arms underneath his front bumper. "What do you mean?"

"You don't have all of his spark. I still have a part of it in my own spark. You're going to need it to fight the Quintessons."

Jazz started, a sharp intake of air whooshing through his vents. "Now wait jus' an astrosecond-"

Starscream didn't let him finish. "I will give you the details of Megatron's new battle strategy, his upcoming attack on your army and the location of his new base. You can destroy him once and for all. I can help you do this."

Prowl stared into Starscream's optics. The Seeker never wavered, holding his gaze. Finally, Prowl spoke. "Why?"

"We have a common enemy: Megatron. I will help you destroy him, _if_ you destroy the Quintessons first."

"Why Prowl?" Starscream shifted his attention back to Jazz, still leaning against his palm tree. "Why can't _you _destroy them? Ya had his spark too."

Starscream gazed into Jazz's visor for a long moment before he turned back to Prowl. He stepped forward, moving well into Prowl's personal space. The Seeker leaned his helm in close to Prowl's own. Prowl, to his credit, didn't move a cable, just stared into the Seeker's optics as he leaned far too close. Starscream began speaking low and dangerously smooth, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You can feel him inside of you. He's merging with your own spark. I know. I had him too." Starscream leaned back, holding Prowl's optics as he began stalking around the tactician. "His thoughts, his memories… they will all be your own. You can reach into his power!" Starscream stopped behind Prowl who was holding his doorwings high and tight. "You know the enemy that we need to fight. You know the Quintessons. You've fought them before." Starscream continued on, sliding around to Prowl's other side. "You _must_ do this, Prowl. You _must_ destroy them once more. You must save Cybertron again. You already have most of his power, his strength." Starscream reached up, fingers hovering over the edge of Prowl's doorwing. "Once you have the rest... once _I_ give it to you, you will be unstoppable." Starscream lightly, delicately, traced the edge of the curved doorwing with his finger. "_Feel_ his power."

Prowl exploded, reacting as soon as he felt the delicate touch on his doorwing. He whirled around to face the Seeker, grabbing his neck collum and slamming him backwards into the palm tree trunk. Jazz dodged out of the way at the last second. Prowl dragged Starscream upwards, scrapping his wings against the scratchy wood. His optics flashed, mouthplates gritted together in a harsh grimace.

Jazz rolled as soon as he hit the ground, jumping to his feet just as he saw Thundercracker raise his arm to level his laser ray at Prowl's back. Jazz lashed out, catching the Seeker with his sideways kick and knocking Thundercracker off balance. Thundercracker went crashing to the ground. Jazz quickly stood over him, planting one of his heavy feet on the Seeker's abdominal plating and glaring down at his captive.

Starscream smiled down at Prowl, feeling the fingers of the tactician dig into his neck cables. He relished the pain, offlining his optics briefly at the pleasure before opening them to gaze into Prowl's own fiery blue ones. "Excellent, Prowl. You have just proven my point."

Prowl's optics widened and flashed, then darkened murkily as he frowned and lowered the Seeker to the ground, releasing his hold on his neck. Starscream flexed his neck cables, rolling his helm to the side as he smiled coldly at Prowl.

Skywarp came rushing up the beach just as Thundercracker shoved at Jazz's foot. "Get off me!"

Jazz stepped backwards and quickly sat down. The rush had left him leaving the Saboteur weaker than before. He felt dizzy, holding his helm in his hands to try to stop the sudden spinning all around. Jazz felt Prowl drop down beside him though he offlined his optics to try to help calm his rapidly churning tanks.

Prowl reached out for Jazz's shoulder then dropped it uselessly into the dirt behind him. He turned and glared over his shoulder at Starscream. "Why didn't you just take his spark back? You jacked into me deep enough."

"Don't you think I tried? He's too deep in your processor and your code. He's integrated far more into _your_ systems than he did with mine." Starscream sighed. "If I could take him back and kill you, I would."

Thundercracker, dusting himself off with Skywarp's help and glaring at Jazz on the ground, couldn't resist digging into Starscream's plating. "I think he likes Prowl more than you, Screamer."

Starscream crossed his arms again, utterly ignoring his trinemate. "Face it, Prowl. We need each other."

Jazz onlined his optics, reaching out to pat Prowl's lower leg armor. "I'm alright," he muttered, Prowl's worried optics still on his frame.

Prowl stood, turning and glaring at the smug red Seeker. "What do you want?"

"Repairs. For myself and my trine. Your assurance and expertise to destroy the Quintessons. Your assistance in destroying Megatron."

"And afterwards? What then?" Prowl stepped in front of Starscream, searching his optics.

"One thing at a time, Prowl." Starscream smiled wickedly. "Though I can assure you that the Decepticons will be very different under my leadership."

Jazz stood, hauling himself to his feet a bit unsteadily. "We sent out a recon team with the humans. We picked up some of your signals."

Starscream and Thundercracker shared a long, silent look. Starscream's optics were heavy, filled with meaning. Thundercracker pressed his mouthplates together in a thin line. "Where?" Starscream finally asked, looking back at Jazz.

"Central Asia."

Starscream laughed, vocalizer shrill and empty of warmth. "Your team will be destroyed." He turned back to Thundercracker, Skywarp now beside him. "Soundwave must be having problems masking their signals there." He shook his helm. "Idiot."

Jazz clenched his hands into fists, grinding his denta together. He took a step toward the Seeker, ready to tear into his cockpit, ready to rip his wings from his frame, ready to beat him to death with the ripped out pieces of his internals. Prowl stopped him, laying a hand on his shoulder and silencing his protests with a glance.

"We need to get back to the Ark."

* * *

"We can't fly back. We're all still too weak to carry you both and we've offlined our signals dampeners we used to get past the American military. They use to much energy." Thundercracker gathered the converted energon cubes that Skywarp had been collecting.

"I can warp us all there, but not in one jump. This energon will get us halfway there, then I need to refuel." Skywarp started drinking the energon Thundercracker handed to him, gagging a bit on the foul taste. It truly was a horrible substitute for the real thing.

"How far can you get us?" Prowl was standing next to Jazz who was trying to drink one of the converted cubes. He could only manage a few sips at a time, the taste and the consistency making his tanks churn.

"About halfway." Skywarp gagged again. "Probably to the American Midwest."

Prowl nodded. "Oklahoma is a good place to go. There are some pretty desolate and rural places that we can hide in."

Skywarp nodded, drawing up the internal maps he had of the planet in his databanks. "I can get us there." He glared down at the energon in his hands. "It will take me a while to finish this though. Probably a joor."

Jazz shuddered. "This is the most horrible tasting energon I've ever had." He shared a pained look with Skywarp, the both of them glaring down at their cubes.

"It's the best we could do." Thundercracker stood, emptying the last conversion half into a cube and walked over to Starscream, standing alone on the beach with his optics offline, letting the wind pass over his wings.

Prowl looked at Jazz. "Drink it all." He waited for Jazz to nod to him, sighing, before he too walked down to the beach, sliding a bit on the pebbles, and stood far away from Starscream. Jazz watched his doorwings droop as the tactician gazed out over the gentle waves, stillness enveloping his form.

Jazz started to walk after him but Skywarp stopped him, reaching out to grab his arm. "Leave him alone." Jazz shook the purple Seeker's hand off, glaring back at him and continuing on. "Jazz! Don't!"

Jazz stopped, turning back to the Seeker. "Why?"

"He's going through a lot right now. This isn't an easy process."

Jazz bristled, offended at Skywarp's assumptions of his own friend. "Ya think I don't know that?"

Skywarp frowned. "Look, we saw this with Screamer. You don't want to end up on the wrong side of him right now. Just let him be."

"He'll never hurt me." The words were out of Jazz's mouthplates before he could stop them, the images and feelings of Prowl's form above him, shaking and swinging that heavy wrench down into his armor again and again suddenly intruding into his processor. He offlined his optics at the force of it, inhaling sharply.

"Did he call you Switch too?" Skywarp's voice was low.

Jazz onlined his optics with a flash, staring into Skywarp's optics with open and shocked mouthplates. "What do you know 'bout that?"

Skywarp turned away, back to the energon cubes on the ground in front of him. "I don't want to talk about it," he said stiffly over his shoulder to the Saboteur.

Jazz glared at the Seeker's back, frustration suffusing his frame. He turned back towards the beach, intent on following Prowl. He gazed up, looking at the form of his friend, still gazing into the waves, his doorwings still drooped low. Jazz paused, hesitating. Cursing, he turned and walked back to sit across from Skywarp, glaring at the purple Seeker as he sat down heavily on the ground. Skywarp wouldn't meet his optics.

Prowl gazed out across the waves, seeing nothing in front of him. Feelings and images not his own swirled and roiled within him, throwing his emotions and processor every which way. He sighed, squinting his optics and offlining them briefly.

Thundercracker's jab at Starscream had hit too close to his – their – spark. Pax _did_ like Prowl more than Starscream, much more. He had dug into Prowl's code, enveloping the doorwinger in his very essence, merging his self with Prowl's very being. Prowl felt the power of Pax roll through him, no longer battling for supremacy but now working inline with his own systems.

It was strange, he thought, having another being sharing his body. If he had thought about it before hand he would have thought he'd have lost more control. He'd have thought that it would be exactly like he was before, barely conscious of his own actions, losing himself in the haze of emotions and battling systems. With Starscream's programming though, Pax and he existed side by side, the other mech's consciousness subsumed within his own. Prowl couldn't identify where he ended and Pax began. They had merged, entirely.

He wasn't terrified, not really. He didn't _not_ feel like himself. He couldn't really identify what was different, couldn't fully pinpoint the changes. A general sense of power. A feeling of strength. More worrisome were the quiet feelings of rage and pain, just beneath the surface.

That did frighten Prowl. He wasn't used to the surge of emotions, the rush of feelings that this mech lived with. He had always kept his own emotions tightly contained, never letting his spark run free. His feelings were too strong, too powerful to let loose.

That was, in truth, why Pax had bonded so fiercely to his own self. The brief glimpse into Starscream's processor had chilled Prowl, chilled him down to his tanks. Starscream felt nothing, nothing but the cold and steely lust for power, for control. He had nothing but raw ambition in his lines and in his processor. There were no feelings of happiness, of fidelity, of friendship. He existed entirely for his own betterment and for advancement of himself.

Pax was a whirlwind of emotions. His emotions never stopped, never ceased. They crashed into Prowl's own, again and again, breaking the iron-clad hold on his own spark easily.

Prowl sighed heavily. Pax had found the one emotion of Prowl's he could envelop himself in and wrap himself in, wallow in inside of him. It hurt, it hurt so much, to have this uncovered, to have this exposed to reality and laid bare. It was what Prowl worked so _hard_ to bury, each and every cycle, refusing to let loose his fiercely felt feelings.

Prowl wanted to scream. He wanted to scream his spark out, claw at the pain until it stopped, until he overwhelmed these feelings inside of him.

Instead, he stared out over the sea, waves lapping at his feet as he clenched and unclenched the cables in his neck and jaw, again and again.

* * *

Bumblebee limped in from the mouth of the cave, trading his watch duty with SGT Peters, one of their team's weapons specialists from the Army. Peters still had a large bandage taped over his left eye, dirty now after being in the field for so long. He nodded, exhausted, at 'Bee as they passed each other.

Peters dropped low, creeping out of the cave and walking out further than 'Bee was able to. The humans were better able to conceal themselves in the terrain, better able to stand guard. Hiding a nine-foot tall bright yellow robot in the organic mountain terrain was near impossible. 'Bee insisted that they stand guard with the humans though, making up for his lack of exposure with their expanded sensor capabilities.

Not that it did much good. The Decepticons had finally managed to perfect their dampening fields, which not only made them invisible to the team and the rest of the humans, but also made the missing team invisible from the search party as well. They were trying to trudge out of range of the field, slowed down by injuries and their barely functioning states.

'Bee sat down heavily at the back of the cave, leaning up against the wall next to LT Whitmore. The Lieutenant was munching on the last piece of his carefully saved and rationed MRE, now down to the salted crackers and small ketchup packet. He turned exhausted eyes to 'Bee, rolling his head against the rock wall. "Nothing out there?"

'Bee shook his helm. "Nothing." He sighed, inclining his head toward the mech laying out on the ground in front of them and the human medic, SPC Jackson, crouching down next to him. If he weren't so exhausted, and if their situation weren't so dire, 'Bee would have found the whole scene spectacular: a human medic tending to a mech, the both of them clinging to the other and to life itself.

Unfortunately, it wasn't so spectacular when it was not only 'Bee's friend but his teammate, one of the mechs entrusted to his care and command.

Trailbreaker lay on the cave floor, ventilations weak and filled with fluids. His energy was low, dangerously so, and every mech knew he was close to termination. Windcharger, Brawn and Beachcomber sat together against the opposite cave wall, close to Trailbreaker's helm. The three were offline, in recharge after standing watch outside and over Trailbreaker all cycle.

Trailbreaker had saved them all, every one of them, when the Decepticons had ambushed their position. Skyfire was hit first, the first mech the Decepticons found and targeted. He had just enough time to warn them before he was hit, losing control and crashing down into the mountains. 'Bee hoped he was okay, but they weren't able to find him, weren't able to locate him on their mad dash out of the canyon. Beachcomber had hit a buried explosive, something the humans called an IED. He was carrying three of the humans at the time, managing to half transform and shield them from too much damage as the explosion tore through his frame. He was missing a leg now, destroyed and damaged beyond field repair. There weren't even enough pieces left to gather and return to Ratchet for repairs. Ratchet would have to make a whole new leg for him, supposing they made it back to the Ark.

Brawn had managed to gather the humans behind him, providing cover while he quickly rigged an explosive of his own, lobbing it in the general direction of the Decepticon's weapons fire. They weren't able to see the Decepticons at first, couldn't see just how many there were. Brawn's explosive damaged their dampening field, offlining it for a moment. The chatter of the 'Cons poured over their own commlink, frantic and shouting orders for the dampening field as they unloaded their firepower at the isolated team. 'Bee had been frozen, for just an astrosecond, shocked at the sheer number of Decepticons in front of them. He had ordered a retreat immediately, leaning over to quickly explain to LT Whitmore just what they had walked into to.

Trailbreaker had formed a forcefield, shielding the retreating mechs and humans from the Decepticon fire until they were safely out of range. The Decepticons, frustrated and searching for the reason their firepower was ineffective, had quickly zeroed in on Trailbreaker. They waited until he dropped his forcefield, weakened and chasing after the retreating team, to unload on him.

'Bee still saw Trailbreakers form, impacted by the laser fire and rockets of the Decepticon's, hit from behind and losing his footing, crashing down the mountainside in a hailstorm of sparks and fire in his optics when he offlined. He could still hear Brawn's scream, still see the other minbots race to the form of Trailbreaker, unmoving where he eventually rolled to a crashing stop in the ravine. His leg was on fire, burning from the inside and melting his internals and the wiring in his leg. There was an ugly gash in his backside, smoking and charred, internals leaking energon and sparking angrily. A cable in his neck had snapped, his helm tilting dangerously. Fluids were everywhere.

Brawn emptied his coolant tanks onto the burning leg, extinguishing the fire quickly. The minibots struggled to heft him up and gather him underneath their combined efforts and drag him away. Even Brawn was struggling after their battle and their exertions. Beachcomber, already limping and leaning heavily on one human, couldn't help them carry Trailbreaker but 'Bee slid in, supporting the heavy helm of the dark mech.

They ran as fast as they could, as long as they could. It wasn't very fast and it wasn't very far, but the Decepticons weren't too interested in chasing them. They didn't know why until they were stuck out in the wilderness for cycles, for an orn, without help, without aid, comms offline and sensors blind.

There was no help coming, no way out without their systems online. They wandered for cycles, lost, as the Cassettes tracked their every move.

The human team tried to shoot azimuths, tried to locate their position on their maps and grids. Each time they tried to leave the caves they had taken to hiding in, Laserbeak or Ravage would appear, disrupting the human's efforts to pin down their location and pinning them all back in the caves.

Trailbreaker's condition deteriorated steadily. His armor had absorbed most of the blast and aside from the burned leg and structural damage to his frame, he seemed to be alright when he onlined. They missed the small leak in his fuel tank entirely, not knowing until Trailbreaker collapsed behind them, internals flooded with energon from his internal leak that his systems were weak and damaged. Windcharger, the only mech still among them who had medical training beyond their basic emergency energon management, had had to patch his tank, a spotty weld and messy patch the best he could do.

The damage was already done though. The energon leaking inside of him had pressed on his systems, pressed on his internals, the pressure rising until it finally cracked his lines, seeping into his air filters and O2 transfer lines. From the O2 lines it traveled into his engine ignition, mixing in the gears and disrupting his firing sequence, shorting out his engine. He could barely move, barely function anymore. The fluid in his air filters was choking his ventilations, the oxygen not able to make it to his already-flooded engine, itself unable to power his systems.

Trailbreaker was dying. And there wasn't anything 'Bee could do about it.

Whitmore leaned over to 'Bee's audial, speaking low. "Jackson doesn't know how much longer he has."

'Bee nodded. SPC Jackson, the team's medic, had taken an immediate interest in the mechanical medical nature of the Autobots, asking a seemingly endless series of questions of Skyfire on their internals, their systems and their life-giving functions. Skyfire had patiently and happily answered each one of them, enjoying the technical discussions. He had thrown his huge helm back and laughed though when Jackson had shaken his head and declared that the Autobots were essentially cars on feet, and that he had never thought his past as a grease monkey would intertwine with his job as a medic. Skyfire had told him they were a bit more involved than simple human cars, pointing out the transformation cog and spark as well as their complete lack of need for fossil fuels as evidence.

Jackson had taken to treating Trailbreaker as if he were treating one of his own humans. Windcharger helped as much as he could, explaining the best he could about their internal systems. Jackson transferred everything into human terms, trying to treat the fluid and energon loss as he would for the human equivalent of hypovolemic shock. It was partially successful.

"I still think we should split up," Whitmore continued.

'Bee frowned. Whitmore had brought up this idea before, shortly after they were pinned in the caves. He didn't like it.

"We haven't seen the Cassettes in a while, and we're still not getting anywhere with the comms. I say we send a small team, a couple of us, out there. They wont stop until they get out from this damn field. It has to have a perimeter somewhere."

'Bee didn't like it. He didn't like splitting the team up. They were supposed to stay together, support each other. If they split up, they wouldn't be able to come together for help or assistance if the others were hurt. There was also no guarantee that they'd ever be able to find them again should they get too far separated. They were _lost_, after all. They had no clue where they were. He wanted them to all get out of there alive, _together_.

Especially TrailbreakerWhitmore had a good point though, and he'd made it before. If they all couldn't get out together, then perhaps a few could. A few could slip out and hopefully get past the Cassettes, hopefully get help. And if they couldn't get help, then they could at least report back what had happened. 'Bee was stuck between his obligations to his team and to Prime and to the Autobots. He needed to get to Prime, needed to tell him about the Decepticons, about what they had seen. He also needed to get them out, all of them out alive. Even Trailbreaker. He was beginning to realize he couldn't have both options.

"Who do you suggest we send?" He looked back into Whitmore's eyes. He liked this human, liked him quite a lot.

"Peters. Martinez. Brawn. And you." Whitmore held 'Bee's optics.

"Me?"

"You can get them all out. I know you can."

'Bee sighed. He wished he shared Whitmore's optimism. He thought over the mechs and humans Whitmore had suggested. A weapons specialist, one of the communications specialists. Brawn, uninjured and able to move quickly. Windcharger would stay with Trailbreaker and Jackson until the end.

"We'll leave next cycle." Bumblebee leaned his helm back against the rock wall, offlining his optics in exhaustion.

"That means morning, right?" Whitmore smiled at him, reminding 'Bee suddenly of Jazz as he onlined his optics.

He smiled back at his human friend, punching him lightly, very lightly for the mech, on his cloth-covered shoulder. "Yes, human. Morning." He offlined his optics once more, initiating his recharge for the last time in their cave hideout.

* * *

Jazz felt the sunshine warming his armor as he onlined his optics. There was a solid and welcoming presence holding him from behind, strong, sturdy and familiar. Prowl's arms were wrapped around his abdominal plating, their hands and fingers intertwined. Both of them were reclining backwards, Prowl against the smooth wood of a large tree and Jazz against Prowl, relaxing in the empty Oklahoma field they were hiding in.

Jazz flicked at the solar energon collector on his arm, soaking up the sunlight. Prowl had one affixed to him as well though the rest were scattered across Skywarp's wings and chest plating, absorbing as much of the daylight as he could before nightfall.

Their first warp had gone well. Skywarp had gathered them all close, concentrating on his warp field to include all five and only bouncing them around slightly during the journey to Oklahoma. They reappeared in a cornfield, flattening the stalks and bumping around disorientated until Starscream, bitching at Skywarp for his terrible orientation, managed to pop out of the cornfield and onto a dusty dirt road.

"Feel familiar, Prowl?" Starscream had sneered. Prowl ignored him, transforming into his vehicle mode and instructing the Seekers to follow quietly at the edge of the road, out of sight. Jazz transformed as well, following Prowl and grateful for the slow place he set. They were both still damaged from their drive. Prowl's engine was making a terrible knocking sound, grating at Jazz's audials.

After a joor of driving, they finally ducked off the road and into a well-hidden field, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers and peppered with large, shaded trees. There was an abandoned outbuilding set far from the road, in need of repair and clearly not in use by any humans. Prowl had led them to it as the sun was setting, telling them all that this was where they'd recharge for the night.

Starscream was horrified. The outbuilding was tiny, barely big enough for the five of them to fit in even huddled close. It was filthy as well, dust, cobwebs and dirt covering every surface. Starscream wasted no time in vehemently expressing his hatred of all things organic, glaring around at the dirt in dissatisfaction. Thundercracker, who was supporting Skywarp, weak from the warping and the trek down the road, ignored his trinemate, settling Skywarp down against the far wall after pushing on the wood planks first to ensure they'd support the weight of the Seeker leaning against it. It held.

Prowl had only listened to Starscream's whining for a breem before telling him to offline his vocalizer. His optics flashed as he stared at Starscream, a small power struggle playing out between their glares. Jazz and Thundercracker watched it with held breaths, sharing a look as Starscream settled down alone in one corner though still continuing to grumble softly.

The Seeker tossed and turned all night, sighing heavily and grumbling each time. None of them had a very restful recharge except for Skywarp, who was so exhausted he offlined as soon as Thundercracker had leaned him against the wooden wall. He stayed in recharge until well into the next morning cycle.

Now though, they needed to collect more energon for Skywarp's next warp. He calculated that he could get them all the way to the Ark's perimeter patrol zone if he managed to refuel with the solar energon converters for a full solar cycle. Starscream kicked him outside immediately, sticking nearly every one of the converters on his wings, eager to get away from the dirty outbuilding. Prowl snagged two, one for himself and one for Jazz, then pulled the rest of them together to discuss how they were going to approach the Ark.

Jazz didn't know how they'd be received when they arrived. Prowl was still missing his internal comms beacon, which meant the Ark wouldn't read his presence with the group when they arrived. What they would see would be the beacons of the three Seekers and a badly damaged and weakened Jazz. Prowl was concerned that the patrol wouldn't hesitate to open fire on the Seekers and assume Jazz was a prisoner, especially if it was the twins or Ironhide.

Prowl declared that they'd all walk in together, open and non-hostile and not in alt mode. Once they found the outer perimeter patrol, they'd contact the officer on duty, or Prime if he was back, and go the rest of the way in covertly. Prowl didn't want the entire Ark to know right away about the three Seekers he was bringing back with him. Soundwave's Cassettes were quite good at getting into the Ark and he knew that oftentimes the Decepticons didn't even need to bug the Command Deck; the gossip on the Ark gave the spies enough information already.

Prowl also glared hard at Starscream until the Seeker repeated back to him that he wouldn't shoot or raise his rays to any Autobot that they came across.

Jazz privately wondered how the Ark would receive Prowl back as well, now no longer out of his processor, but … different. He couldn't imagine the Pit they were walking into, between Prime and Ratchet's angry concern and the fear and worry of the rest of the Ark.

That was for another time though, a worry for the next cycle. Jazz squeezed his fingers against Prowl's own, tightening Prowl's grip around his middle. He felt Prowl stir, heard the intake of breath near his audial. It made him shiver and sent tendrils of energy down his circuits. Jazz moaned, softly.

"Stay offline, Jazz. Don't wake up." Prowl's voice was low, soft and gentle next to his audial. It only made his circuits spark more as he dragged a breath in, onlining his optics fully.

"How c'n I when this feels s'good?" Jazz rolled himself in Prowl's arms, letting go of those white hands and facing his friend. He kept himself lounging between Prowl's spread legs as he grinned slowly upwards at Prowl and reached out a hand to trace his headlight.

Prowl caught his hand, stilling its motion. "Jazz…" he sighed, looking into Jazz's visor.

Jazz intertwined their fingers again, smiling fully now, and leaned in close to Prowl's helm. He held Prowl's optics as he moved closer, whispering Prowl's name as he leaned in for their first, gentle kiss.

Prowl turned his helm to the side, gasping. Jazz's lipplates met the cool armor of Prowl's helm. He leaned back, Prowl's hands moving to his shoulderjoints and holding him at arms length.

Jazz frowned. "Prowl? I…" He swallowed, gears tight and sticking.

Prowl's optics were shining, overbright with energy and light. He shook his helm slowly, side to side. "I can't, Jazz… I can't." His vocalizer crackled beneath his words.

"Whadda ya mean?" Jazz pulled back, sitting back on his heels and staring at Prowl, optics wide and hurt beneath his visor.

Prowl inhaled a shuddering breath, optics offlining as he dropped his hands from Jazz's shoulderjoints. "I know how you feel, Jazz. But I can't… I can't give you what you want."

Jazz's spark stilled, dropping to the bottom of his tanks. His optics swam, too many colors and lights suddenly in his vsion. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "I… I thought….with everthin' tha' had just..." His vocalizer shorted out, unable to process the emotion in his words.

Prowl onlined his optics, looking into Jazz's face and the sheer agony welling up from within. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Jazz buried his helm in his hands, suddenly unable to look at Prowl, unable to meet his gaze. He moaned. Pain rocked through him, spiking into his spark and crushing his breath.

Prowl reached out for him, cupping Jazz's helm in his white hands. "It's not what you think… I do care for you, Jazz. I do."

Jazz pulled back, clinging to Prowl's shoulderjoints. He retracted his visor, laying bare his hurting optics. Their fractured blueness crackled with white tendrils of too much emotion.

"Oh, Jazz…" Prowl sighed, grasping Jazz's helm in his hands and bringing his forehead to rest against Jazz's own. He offlined his optics, stroking Jazz's cheekarches and whispering his name, breaths ghosting over Jazz's faceplates.

Jazz reached out, black hands reaching up to cup Prowl's audials as he stroked lightly and circled their frames. He felt Prowl shudder and saw his optics online, staring into his own.

"Is it," Jazz tried to begin, vocalizer shorting on him again. "Is it because of him? Because of Pax?" He continued to stroke Prowl's audials, holding his friend's helm against his own, their breaths intermingling and optics staring into the others.

Prowl shook his helm, the motion transferring to Jazz's own. "No." Prowl swallowed, stroking Jazz's cheekarches still. "No, it's me. It's who I am."

Jazz knew he sounded like Starscream, knew he sounded petulant and whiny, but didn't care at all. "Whadda' ya mean? I don't understand."

Prowl sighed, his ventilations blowing over Jazz's faceplates. "I'm an Enforcer, Jazz. There are… certain things about me that are different, much different, from other mechs."

"Like what?"

"Like how I feel. How I think." Prowl sighed again, offlining his optics briefly. "I _feel_, passionately, about things, Jazz. Strongly. _Too_ strongly. I feel it in my spark, pounding out."

"What things?" Jazz's vocalizer had dropped to nothing, pained whispers escaping through force of will alone.

"The Autobots. Our victory, our successes. Everyone on the Ark. Prime." Prowl gazed hard into Jazz's optics. "You."

Jazz inhaled sharply. "I feel strongly too, Prowl, 'bout all those things. Wha's the difference?"

Prowl shook his helm again. "No, Jazz, not like this. I _have_ to feel this strongly as part of my function. I have to feel this way about those things I protect and serve in order to function as an Enforcer. My function is an outgrowth of my feelings, my passions. None of you understand. You all assume it's the opposite…" Prowl shook his helm again.

"I still don' understand…"

"I have to control it, Jazz. I can't let it all out. I can't let it all run wild. My feelings can easily overwhelm me... too easily. They'll cripple me and break me." Jazz offlined his optics as he listened to Prowl's halting words. "My emotions, my feelings are why Pax joined so strongly to me. He's the same. Except he doesn't control his feelings." Prowl sighed. "I can't do that, Jazz. I _can't_." Prowl's voice was no more than a pleading whisper, begging Jazz to understand him.

"Who is Switch?" Jazz onlined his optics, staring at Prowl once again. He felt Prowl flinch at the name, felt the shudder run through his frame.

"He's what you are to me... to Pax." Prowl offlined his optics, stroking Jazz's cheekarches harder, wiling his feelings to pass through his touch.

"And what is that?" Jazz whispered, choking.

Prowl inhaled, optics still offline. "The only mech he ever loved," he whispered out, barely able to be heard by either 'bot.

Jazz moaned, crying out and gripping Prowl's helm tightly. He offlined his optics as the emotion rolled through him, static and white noise choking out of his vocalizer. Prowl dropped his arms around Jazz's shoulderjoints as he pulled his body close to his chest and buried his helm in the crook of Jazz's neck collum.

They stayed that way, rocking back and forth and clinging to each other and their pain. Jazz shuddered in Prowl's arms, electric sobs crashing through his body. Prowl held him tight, held him close, memorizing every detail, every feeling of Jazz pressed up against him. It was the only chance he would ever get, to hold Jazz this way. He inhaled, savoring the scent of Jazz, the oils and ores of his form, the paint on his armor.

It was horrible, terrible, spark-breaking. It was the worst moment of Prowl's life, to have and to hold Jazz, the mech he loved with the depth of his spark and for the length of his life, and to know that he would never do so again. He felt his emotions surge within him, crying out to never let this go, to never, ever let Jazz go.

Sobbing, he pushed those thoughts aside.

Jazz finally leaned back, sliding his hand down from the top of Prowl's helm to cup his faceplates once again. His optics were dim, drained of energy and of emotion, colored dark indigo.

Jazz stroked Prowl's own cheekarches, Prowl arching into the touch with a sigh. "In all the times," Jazz began, then stopped. "In all the times I ever imagined tellin' ya, I never, ever, thought ya'd say this."

Jazz leaned forward, bringing Prowl's helm down to his own. Prowl inhaled sharply, trying to twist away. He couldn't, wouldn't stand it if Jazz kissed him. He knew, just knew that his control would break, would crack apart, would fracture in a billion pieces. As it was it was already too frayed, too thin.

Jazz brought the Enforcer's helm down until Prowl's chevron was level to his optics, then leaned up and pressed the softest, gentlest kiss into the centre. His lips lingered over the red plating for a moment, gasping at the emotion surging within him before he pulled back and set his visor down once more, hiding his pained optics from Prowl's own.

Prowl sat unmoving, watching Jazz as the Saboteur shakily got to his feet, turned and moved away from Prowl and back towards their decrepit outbuilding, never once turning to look back at the Enforcer. Jazz knew he'd collapse if he did. He'd fall to pieces, break apart all over the field. He'd shatter into all the pieces that his spark was currently exploding into.


	9. Chapter 9

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 9

* * *

"Freeze, Deceptiscum!"

Jazz, Prowl, Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp all froze as one, glancing around their trail and searching for the Autobot who had given the command. Jazz lifted his hands up next to his helm, palms open, cautiously stepping forward.

"I said, freeze! All of you!" The voice called out again, hidden in the treeline.

They were expecting this, waiting for it actually. The five of them had warped to the Ark's perimeter zone a joor ago, continuing their walk towards the Ark on foot. They were waiting to be discovered, waiting to be found by their own patrol.

Skywarp hadn't collected enough energy for the warp in one solar cycle. He needed a few more joors of sunlight. They had had to spend another exceedingly uncomfortable night in their shack. This time, it was made far worse by the unbearable strain that had settled between Jazz and Prowl.

The two mechs couldn't look at each other, couldn't meet the other's optics. They didn't say one word between them as the five settled in to recharge, Starscream's bitching and complaining carrying on in a steady stream in the background. Jazz had lain himself next to Thundercracker, stretching out in the corner and kicking his legs out wide. He was taking up a lot of their precious space, but Jazz didn't much care. Starscream whined and complained about the dust and dirt in his wings and joints until he finally stopped pacing and settled in the corner opposite Jazz, kicking the Saboteur's legs for good measure. Prowl ended up in the far corner, arms wrapped around his chest armor and doorwings spread wide as he attempted to ignore them all, shrouded in an impenetrable silence of gloom. Thundercracker and Skywarp, curling together on the remaining wall, watched the spectacle with wide optics.

The morning wasn't any better. Skywarp woke first, trying to catch every ray of sunlight on his collectors. Thundercracker helped him affix the collectors to his wings, making the purple Seeker look like a particularly ugly speckled and spotted flyer. He didn't notice either Jazz or Prowl not in their shack until the Seekers were already heading outside.

Prowl had been standing outside their outbuilding, stock-still and arms folded across his bumper. His doorwings were high and tight, tense. He didn't react as Thundercracker and Skywarp stumbled out, still sleepy from recently coming out of recharge. The Enforcer merely pointed down the gentle hillside to where the first rays of sunlight were starting to hit their dry, grassy field.

Skywarp trotted down and laid himself out on the ground, wings spread wide, offlining and slipping back into recharge almost as soon as he was flat. Thundercracker followed Prowl's gaze out towards one of the large Oak trees in the next field and the still form of Jazz sitting underneath, one leg tucked up next to his frame, arm draped causally across his kneejoint as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Thundercracker, looking between the two Autobots, chose to pursue the better part of valor and trotted down after Skywarp, laying down and sliding up next to his trinemate.

They warped away several joors later, coming to land uncomfortably close to the Ark perimeter for Prowl's liking. He certainly didn't like the Seekers having the coordinates for their perimeter so well plotted. Skywarp could feel Prowl's optics on him, silent and imposing, as they walked on.

Slowly, from the treeline to the right of their trail, two forms emerged, familiar and very welcome. Jazz couldn't help but smile, relieved and delighted to finally be home as Bluestreak and Hound stalked out onto the trail in front of them, rifles raised high and ready to open fire.

Both of their optics were huge. "Jazz?" Hound asked first, barely believing what he was seeing. "Prowl?" His tone became more incredulous.

Prowl stepped forward, walking straight to the two Autobots on patrol, though neither Bluestreak or Hound lowered their rifle's. "Prowl?" Bluestreak's voice was shaky, optics wide and full of emotion. "Are you alright? I've been so worried about you. You are filthy! Where have you been? What happened? Why are they with you? What's going on?" Bluestreak chattered his unending series of nervous questions as Prowl continued advancing on him. Hound watched out of the corner of his optics, still training his rifle on the Seekers and Jazz.

"I'm all right, Bluestreak. Yes, I am back, but I need to speak with Prime, immediately."

Bluestreak's optics darted to the Seekers, then back to Prowl. "He's not here. He's still with the American military."

"Who is the Officer in Charge?" Prowl's optics bore down into Bluestreak's.

"Ironhide. He's been in charge since Prime left, since you were down, and then Jazz left too…" Bluestreak uncharacteristically trailed off, seemingly out of words.

"What are your friends doing here, Jazz?" Hound said as Jazz walked forwards, away from the flyers and moved next to the Tracker, finally lowering his hands. Hound kept his rifle raised at the Seekers, now looking incredibly impatient, Starscream sighing openly and tilting his helm to the side.

"That's what we need to speak with Ironhide about," Prowl interrupted. "Open a comm line directly to Ironhide. And call off your backup."

To Bluestreak and Hound's credit, they only hesitated slightly. It wasn't every cycle that their 2IC went out his processor, escaped in a dramatic fit of violence, 3IC chasing haphazardly after him, then the both of them reappearing an orn later trailing three Seekers and looking as if they'd been to the Pit and back. The hesitation was too much for Prowl though, who snapped his helm from Hound to Bluestreak, frowning.

Bluestreak quickly opened the commline, first calling off the backup patrol racing across the zone to aid them and then patching directly to Ironhide's internal comm. Ironhide's gruff voice poured out of Bluestreak's speakers, demanding to know just what they had found out there.

"Ironhide, this is Prowl."

The dead air that filled Bluestreak's speakers was broken suddenly by a fit of cursing and swearing, violent epitaphs and vicious slurs against Prowl's logic chips, behavior patterns, and creator's coming across in an unbroken string.

Prowl interrupted the cranky Weapons Specialist's tirade. "I need to speak with you in private, Ironhide. Go into Prime's office."

"What the slag is goin' on out there, Prowl? Are you hostage? Is Jazz really with ya? Let me speak to him!"

"Jus' do it, 'Hide." Jazz had walked over to stand next to Bluestreak, listening to the entire exchange. Hound still had his weapon on the Seekers, though Skywarp was now sitting down on the trail, squishing ants.

They could hear Ironhide grumbling across the comm. link. "Ya alright, Jazz?"

"I'm fine, 'Hide," Jzaz choked out, still not looking at Prowl. Prowl was studiously ignoring Jazz as well, the tension between them thick and bitter. Bluestreak glanced between the two, confusion evident on his faceplates.

"Alright, I'm in his office. What in the Pit are ya playin' at, Prowl?"

"I need you to clear a route to the Ark and into the medbay. I'm coming aboard, but I am not alone." Jazz snorted at the double meaning behind those words, catching Thundercracker's sad smile as well.

"This have somethin' to do with those 'Con signals you're right next to?"

"Yes." Prowl inhaled, then continued. "I'm bringing the former Decepticon 2IC onboard with his trinemates. We've reached an agreement."

The startled sound of disbelief and string of curses that erupted over the comm. line made Bluestreak blush, turning his helm down and away in disbelief. Hound arched an optic ridge and smiled slightly but never dropped his gaze from the Seeker trine.

Starscream himself looked incredibly frustrated. Moving forward suddenly, he brushed Hound's rifle away and stalked past the frozen and indecisive Jeep before he stopped next to Prowl. Starscream smirked down at the suddenly wide-optic'd Bluestreak and spoke into the comm line for Ironhide to hear. "Yes, Autobot. Shocked that your precious Prowl would ally with me?" His tone was mocking, derisive.

"What for?" Ironhide sounded incredibly displeased.

Starscream looked sideways at Prowl who answered Ironhide's gruff question first. "We'll discuss that to faceplates, Ironhide. Clear a route. Inform Ratchet that we are on our way."

Ironhide sighed, long and loud. "No need, Prowl. I'll send Skyfire." He paused, not seeing Starscream reel back, shock coloring his faceplates and sending him rocking backwards several steps. Skywarp jumped to his feet and moved with Thundercracker to their trinemate, reaching out in heavy concern.

Ironhide continued. "I expect a very, _very_ good explanation for all of this, Prowl. You too, Jazz. You have a lot to answer for with that lil' escape of yours."

"We will speak to Prime about that personally." Prowl tone was firm, reminding Ironhide quickly that both Prowl and Jazz outranked the Weapons Specialist on the Ark.

Ironhide sighed again, grumbling. "Skyfire is on his way." He cut the line, mid curse.

Jazz walked over to Hound, still holding his rifle out against the Seekers though frowning heavily. He wasn't certain if he truly was supposed to fire on them now that Prowl had stated they had reached an agreement. The Seekers didn't appear ready to slaughter them all, but Hound couldn't be sure.

"I don' like it either Hound, but it's true. We're workin' together. Ya can lower your rifle." Hound glanced to Jazz, his optics wide, searching the 3IC's faceplates.

Starscream shook his arms out of the concerned touches of his trinemates and stalked off to the side of the trail alone, turning his back to the others. Skywarp and Thundercracker shared twin looks of pained exasperation, this just another in a long series of incidents with their Air Commander and trinemate.

Bluestreak reached a hesitant, tentative hand out to Prowl, laying it gingerly on his elbowjoint. Prowl started, sending Bluestreak jumping back even further. Prowl smiled down at the young Datsun tiredly. "I'm okay. Bluestreak. I am."

Bluestreak's mouthplates moved but no sound came out. His optics were wide, overfull of emotion and feeling. Prowl reached out, squeezing the grey mech's shoulderjoint tightly, once. Bluestreak offlined his optics at the touch, sighing outwards, finally truly believing that Prowl was there, solidly in front of him.

A breem later, as the seven of them stood around not speaking and awkwardly ignoring each other, Skyfire's large thrusters sounded overhead, breaking the still high desert air. He circled twice, then transformed to land on his feet behind Bluestreak.

Thundercracker and Skywarp instantly turned as one to stare at Starscream, still standing with his back to the group, apart on the edge of the trail's road. Jazz looked up to Skyfire and saw the large shuttle's optics glued to the red frame of the Decepticon Air Commander, jaw joint clenched and twitching.

Finally, Skyfire choked out an acknowledgement, anger in his voice. "Starscream."

Starscream turned then, ugly sneer marring face and his lipplates curled up in disgust. "Hello, traitor. Enjoying yourself with the Autobots?"

Skyfire's optics narrowed, growing dark and dangerous. Thundercracker and Skywarp's mouthplates dropped open along with Bluestreak's, while Hound and Jazz shared a look. Skyfire took one step forward, optics glued to Starscream's, his hand clenched into a fist before Prowl broke the tension.

"Stop this now. We need to get back to the Ark." He moved to stand in front of Skyfire, looking upwards to meet the shuttle's optics. "Transform," Prowl ground out slowly.

Skyfire started, breaking his glare with Starscream and looking down at Prowl. He frowned for an astrosecond before walking back behind Bluestreak and transforming to his alt mode silently.

Prowl turned to the Seekers. "Lets go."

The trine padded over to Skyfire's hanger, Starscream still sneering and ugly. Hound walked with Jazz after them, Bluestreak next to Prowl. Jazz followed the Seekers into Skyfire, mercifully not gouging the insides of the shuttle or damaging him in any way though Starscream refused to sit, preferring to stand uncomfortably in the centre of Skyfire's hangar.

Prowl didn't meet Jazz's optics as he passed.

"Bluestreak, Hound," Prowl began, taking a few steps up into the shuttle and looking back at the patrol. "This entire incident and the Seekers' presence here is classified. You will not discuss this with any mech." He searched both their faceplates. "Understood?"

The two nodded silently up at Prowl, watching their returned 2IC continue up the ramp and shut himself into Skyfire. Together, they watched the shuttle lift off, flying towards the Ark and banking hard.

Hound and Bluestreak shared a look after the shuttle disappeared in the distant sky. For the second time that joor, Bluestreak didn't have any words to say and he merely shook his head at Hound, also speechless. Sighing, they transformed to their vehicle modes and continued their patrol.

* * *

When Ratchet saw the five of them troop into his medbay, followed by a very irritated looking Ironhide, the CMO offlined his optics for a full ten astroseconds before onlining them and tilting his helm to the side in disbelief.

Jazz tried for humor. "Heya Ratch. Miss me?"

The five of them discovered then that Ratchet's cursing and swearing was more colorful and explicit than Ironhide's, and that the CMO had far more stamina than the cranky Weapons Specialist in his vocalizer. Jazz smiled in the face of the vitriol, feeling the care and concern of the medic wash over him in Ratchet's own unique way.

Thundercracker and Skywarp's mouthplates were hanging open in shock. Prowl stared impassively at the medic, accepting his bit of abuse from Ratchet. Wheeljack, standing behind Ratchet and gazing at the five in shocked silence when they walked in, turned and twisted to stare at Ratchet, optics crinkling in amusement as the medic continued on.

Finally, Ratchet slowed, stalking over to them and spitting out, "What the frag have you two slagging, rusting heaps of bolt-bucket, scrap metal, spare parts bound, glitching microchip processors done now? And _what_ have you _dragged_ home?" The last was directed with a glare to the Seekers behind them.

Jazz and the Seekers looked amongst each other, none of them entirely sure now where to begin to explain just what had happened to draw the five of them together. How would they even begin to explain the circumstances, the history, the intermingling of all their lives now with ancient Cybertronian pre-history? It was too much, and their vocalizers froze.

Ratchet saved them from any explanation though, even as Starscream was opening his mouthplates to begin. Ratchet moved quickly in front of Prowl, looking the Enforcer up and down, bare shock written over his normally stoic faceplates.

"What the frag is in your spark, Prowl?"

* * *

Bumblebee's armor itched.

The yellow mech had accepted Martinez's suggestion in order to blend in better with their mountainous surroundings. Bright yellow really wasn't covert, nor tactical. Unfortunately, the mud they had smeared and coated his armor with itched like the Pit as soon as it was dry. 'Bee couldn't scratch at it, couldn't even touch himself as the mud would flake off and reveal his shockingly yellow paint underneath.

Granted, after everything that had happened he wasn't as bright yellow as he had been when they first set off. Ugly scratches and burns marred his paint, dents and dings covered his armor. He looked to be a sorry sight and one that Sunstreaker would offline entirely at upon seeing.

Sighing again but trudging forward, 'Bee hurried to keep up with the humans. He set himself fifty feet behind them, themselves also spread out in overwatch as they made a break out for freedom from their heavily dampened area.

Leaving had been incredibly difficult.

At the end, 'Bee hadn't wanted to leave. He didn't want to leave the other 'bots and especially didn't want to leave Trailbreaker. He didn't want to leave the humans either.

LT Whitmore had noticed his hesitation and had seen his pain filled optics staring at each mech and human in the cave. He had pulled 'Bee aside, hands on his shoulders and shaking him slightly. "You have to go, 'Bee. You have to. It's our best chance. Our only chance."

Looking into the eyes of his human friend and seeing that conviction and trust shining out towards him had finally broken 'Bee. He nodded, his own hands coming up to rest on Whitmore's shoulders in a similar grasp.

"I'll come back for you. For everyone."

Whitmore had smiled, again reminded 'Bee of Jazz too much. "I know you will."

Now though, 'Bee could barely think straight, weak and exhausted, his processor low on energon and shorting out from the continued strain 'Bee was demanding of himself. The humans weren't much better, weak and tired from their continued trek as well. Brawn was in between 'Bee and the humans ahead, underpowered as well though stoic and pressing onward.

Whitmore had told them to head south, straight south. They had originally come in from the south, heading north to find the Decepticons. Even after their blind stumbling and their compasses swirling wild and dazed, the confused sensors and perpetually cloudy skies, they still hoped that by heading south they'd eventually pop out from the huge Decepticon dampening field.

It seemed less and less likely with every step.

'Bee saw the humans go down in front of him, Martinez first, then Peters while running to him. Brawn yelped, racing to their teammates as 'Bee took off towards them as well.

When it hit him, 'Bee crumpled to the ground, shaking and grasping his helm in agony and screaming out. Pain arched across his optics, shorting his processor and leaving him gasping for breath. Hands were on him, beating on his armor then, the forms of Martinez and Peters motioning to him and mouthing out loud though he couldn't hear their words.

With a start, 'Bee suddenly realized, suddenly remembered. They had turned their audials up, activated their sensor circuitways to maximum, trying to catch any incoming signal, radar, beacon or comm. Even though nothing was transmitting through the field, it had become habit to leave their sensors tuned to the highest setting. Martinez and Peters had dropped to the ground, ripping their own earpieces off and grasping their ears in pain before looking back and seeing 'Bee collapsing as well. They ran to him, getting him to turn down his internal sensor array so they could speak to him without the choking pain of the comms traffic in all their ears.

Peters' smile was huge, nearly splitting his face in half. "We're out! We're back in clean air!"

* * *

When Prowl was finished explaining everything, _everything,_ to Ironhide, Wheeljack and Ratchet, with significant help from a smug Starscream, there was a full breem of silence in the medbay.

Ratchet turned to the back wall, gathering various tools, instruments and fluid bags, and taking his precious time, before turning and motioning for each of them to sit down on a berth. Ironhide was leaning against the wall, his stunned faceplates struggling to absorb the information he had just heard. Wheeljack took half the supplies from Ratchet's arms and moved towards the Seekers, Starscream on the berth next to Prowl's, Thundercracker and Skywarp sitting side by side on the next one. Wheeljack's audial fins had lit up at the end of Prowl's recitation and stayed online though he said nothing. All he could do was shake his helm back and forth, his optics wide.

Ratchet briefly scanned each of them, shaking his head and sighing before moving to Prowl's side and spiking three bags of energon, oil and coolant, "I'm not entirely surprised. After you escaped, I looked over the last piece of code analysis we did. There was an anomalous energy reading in your core behavior programming." Ratchet glared down at Prowl, motioning for him to hold his arm steady so he could insert the series of three spikes into his lines. "I thought you might have had some errant spark energy from another mech loose in your code." Ratchet ignored Prowl's sudden stiffness at the implications of Ratchet's words. "I _never_ thought that it would be this."

Ironhide moved over to their berth area, arms crossed over his chest. "Alright, what's this plan of yours then, Starscream?"

Starscream shook his helm, smiling slyly. "Ah, ah! Repairs first. We agreed." He turned and glared at Prowl, staring him down.

Prowl nodded at Starscream before looking to Ironhide. "He's right. I did agree to repair him and his trine." Prowl ignored Ironhide's snort, turning back to Starscream. "However, you will give us the location of Megatron's new base in Central Asia. Now."

Prowl wasn't about to waste any time repairing the Seekers while Autobots were in danger. Jazz had filled him in on 'Bee's team and their disappearance during their drive to their shack in Oklahoma, as well as other idle chatter from the Ark that Prowl had missed. The sound of Jazz's voice had warmed his internals and his spark at the same time it utterly destroyed him inside, waves of pain rolling through him again and again.

Starscream wheeled backwards. "That's not what we agreed!"

Prowl stood, walking towards Starscream's berth next to his and stretching his transfer lines tight and ignoring Ratchet's frown in his direction. "I'm changing our agreement." He stared into the Seeker's optics as Starscream sputtered. "Make no mistake, Starscream. I will personally deliver you back to Megatron if your information isn't accurate. My priorities are to the Autobots, not to you. Not to your plan."

Ratchet and Ironhide shared a surprised look as Starscream hissed. He drew in a ragged breath, staring up into Prowl's optics as he tried to squirm away from the intense scrutiny of the Autobot 2IC.

"I'm waiting." Prowl was unrelenting.

"Eastern China." Starscream gasped. "They've set up a base in that human country."

"Why?" Ironhide's disbelieving voice rang out across the medbay.

Starscream frowned, looking downward as Prowl turned to Ironhide. "Get with Skyfire and call up the Pentagon. See what they can pull together with that." Prowl looked back down at Starscream. "Tell them more information is coming."

Wheeljack, through with his scans of the other two Seekers, moved to Jazz, sitting by himself on the furthest berth from Prowl. The cheerful inventor crinkled his optics and flashed his audial fins, his own version of a friendly smile. Jazz did his best to smile back.

Wheeljack scanned Jazz quickly, shaking his helm. "You four have the worst quality energon in your systems I've ever seen."

Ratchet, now performing detailed scans on each of the Seekers, growled his agreement. "What the slag have you four been fueling with?"

"It was the best we could do," Thundercracker spoke up. "We've been on our own for a while now." Starscream glared at his trinemate.

Ratchet turned back to Prowl, leaning back against his berth with his arms crossed and staring at Starscream, who was doing everything he could to not look back at Prowl. "What have you been fueling on, Prowl?"

Prowl broke his glare at the Seeker and looked over to Ratchet. "I had a little of the fluids Jazz brought with him."

Ratchet's helm whipped around and stared at Jazz at the same time the Saboteur cringed. He'd forgotten to tell Prowl that those shouldn't be mentioned. Wheeljack's optic arches rose nearly to his helm fins, audials lighting up for a long moment in silence.

Ratchet stalked over to Jazz's berth. "Jazz?"

Jazz shifted uncomfortably. "I took some supplies with me when I went after 'em…." Jazz trailed off, meeting Ratchet's incensed optics sheepishly. He wasn't about to drag Mirage or Sunstreaker into this. He'd take the wrath of the medic himself.

Jazz reached into his subspace and removed one of the battered and filthy bag that Mirage had given him, optics peripherals, sensor field expander, and Wheeljack's explosive putty still inside. The other bag was left behind, fluids used and empty.

Wheeljack started at seeing his missing putty. "Hey! I've been looking for that!"

Jazz smiled sheepishly again, handing it over.

Ratchet snagged the filthy bag, turning it over until he found what he was looking for. "Slagging liar, Jazz." He showed Jazz the exposed insides of the heavy fabric bag, gifted to the mechs in bulk from Spike and Sparkplug. There, inside the bag in the bottom corner, was a spilled stain of very bright yellow paint.

Jazz breathed in deeply, meeting Ratchet's angry optics. Ratchet fingered the dried paint inside, catching a few flakes on his finger and shaking his helm. He glanced over at the optics peripherals and sensor field expander next to Jazz, frowning. "Sunstreaker doesn't have access to the SpecOps lockers." He arched his optic ridges at Jazz. "Who else?"

Ironhide and Prowl were staring at Jazz as intently as Ratchet was for entirely opposite reasons. Ironhide looked ready to pop a coolant line, irate at the thought of Sunstreaker and another mech working against him during his frantic search for Prowl and Jazz when Prowl had escaped.

Prowl had been giving Jazz that look whenever Prowl thought Jazz wasn't looking, so Jazz continued to ignore it, bottling up his emotions and shoving it deeper into his spark. He sighed, tilting his helm to the side in frustrated defeat as he was surrounded by Ratchet and Ironhide. Wheeljack was continuing his scanning, doing nothing more than productive fidgeting next to Jazz's berth and unwilling to interrupt Ratchet's ire.

"Mirage," Jazz finally spat out.

"Slaggin' bit for brains." Ironhide growled, finally moving away toward the medbay doors. "I'll be on the Command Deck."

Ironhide keyed open the locked medbay doors just as a limping and pained-faced Sunstreaker was getting set to chime the doors on the other side. Both mechs jumped, startled by the sudden appearance in front of them, shock coloring their faceplates. An astrosecond later, Sunstreaker looked deeper into the medbay and saw the shocked faceplates of the three Seekers.

He had his pulse rifle out and fully armed to fire in the next astrosecond.

The medbay erupted in a cacophony of noise. Ratchet hollered at Sunstreaker to drop his weapon while Jazz jumped off his own berth and raced to the doorway, trying to physically calm Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker ignored them all until Ironhide slugged the yellow Lambo in the side of his helm, sending the twin staggering sideways.

That earned Ironhide Sunstreaker's laser rifle pointed at his own chest.

The entire spectacle was witnessed by the Seeker's themselves. Skywarp burst into hysterical laughter, clinging to Thundercracker in gleeful abandon. Starscream had leapt off his berth, sneering and scowling at the Lamborghini and making a point to strut about in freedom.

Prowl's voice cut through all of their frantic yelling, Ratchet's hollering for Sunstreaker to drop his weapon, Ironhide's cursing, and Jazz's placating tones to calm down. "Sunstreaker, get in the medbay. Now!"

Sunstreaker finally seemed to notice Prowl, his lipplates dropping open. That was all Ironhide needed, stepping forward to grab Sunstreaker's rifle away with an angry snatch as Jazz dragged the golden twin into the medbay and hurriedly shut the door once more.

"What the frag is going on?" Sunstreaker's voice was low, optics darting between Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet and the Seekers. He finally settled on the Seekers, glaring hard at the still laughing form of Skywarp. "Something funny, slag-head?"

"You, Autobot," Starscream sneered, leaning over the berth next to his trinemates and smiling wickedly at the Lambo twin.

Sunstreaker took a step towards the Seekers, fury marring his features before Ratchet bellowed at him to stop. He did, glaring sideways at Ratchet and gritting his denta.

"The Seekers are helping me, and us, to destroy our mutual enemies." Prowl once again was trying to bring order to the situation. "I'd prefer it if you didn't kill them right now."

Sunstreaker finally turned and stared at Prowl, looking the 2IC up and down from helm to feet. He met Prowl's optics, nodding stiffly a moment later.

Ironhide gruffly handed Sunstreaker back his rifle. "We're also tryin' to keep their presence here quiet, for now. So don' tell anyone."

"Sideswipe will be here in 5 astroseconds."

Prowl spoke up again. "Neither of you will speak about what you see here."

Just as Sunstreaker predicted, the chime to the medbay doors was suddenly pinging again and again, followed by an impatient series of bangs on the metal bulkheads. Jazz, closest to the keypad, motioned for the door to slide open.

Sideswipe burst in, rifle drawn and ready. "Sunny?"

Sunstreaker shook his head, silently communicating with his twin. Sideswipe's optics boggled at the sight of the Seekers staring at him from Ratchet's berths before moving from Prowl to Jazz then over the smirking Seekers and finally back to his twin.

With a very eloquent grumble of "Frag this," Sideswipe turned and left the medbay.

"Ironhide, go after him." Prowl ordered. Ironhide strode to the door, nodding in exasperation. Prowl continued. "Get with Skyfire and comm the Pentagon as well. See if you can reach Prime in the field."

"I'll be gettin' with Mirage too." Ironhide glared at Sunstreaker as he left the medbay in search of the red twin.

Sunstreaker didn't move, didn't react to Ironhide's glare and the implied threat of knowledge behind it as Ratchet moved closer to him. "What are you doing here, Sunstreaker?" Ratchet growled.

Sunstreaker turned to Ratchet, limping over to stand in front of him. "I blew a tire and think I cracked my axel."

Ratchet sighed, grabbing Sunstreaker by the elbowjoint and hauling him over to Jazz's now-empty berth. He helped the slightly wincing twin hobble onto the berth's surface, both studiously ignoring the still snickering Seekers.

"Did you ever get that patch replaced on your wheel like I told you to?" Sunstreaker inhaled sharply, not answering. "I suppose you thought ignoring me and racing anyway wouldn't lead to this, hmm?" Ratchet stalked to the side wall and came back with a tray of tools which he slammed down onto the berth next to the Lambo with a bit too much force.

Jazz let Wheeljack drag him across the medbay to a spare berth. "I need to empty your lines of this tainted energon. It's filling up your internals with gunk." Wheeljack nodded towards the Seekers as well. "All of you."

Jazz sighed and slid back onto the medbay berth. "How long will the transfer take?"

"I'd like to flush your internals while we're at it. A couple of joors. I'll be able to get all your dings out too, though you need a serious wash before I can repaint you."

Jazz chuckled, looking down at his filthy armor. "Me? A wash? I'm not tha' bad!"

Wheeljack's audial fins lit up. "Lie back, Jazz. And welcome home." Jazz smiled back up at the inventor tiredly and relaxed minutely as he felt the pricks of spike cords being inserted into his lines. Within moments he was drowsy, the bleeding of energon from his systems being interpreted as low energy levels and a need for recharge by his CPU.

Jazz offlined his optics and let himself fall backwards into the welcoming darkness of recharge, listening to the chirping and humming sounds of Wheeljack. He smiled sadly to himself as he thought about the last time he had heard the inventor's musical maintenance. Was it truly only a few orns ago? How had his life come so undone, so entirely, in such a short amount of time? He'd give anything, _anything_ to go back to the way it was, before Prowl had told him that he loved him back but would never, ever share that love with Jazz. It hurt, so much, inside of Jazz. There was a vast pit, a well of emptiness that was overtaking his internals, swallowing his spark whole inside of him.

At least before he had hope. He had dreams. No matter that he never acted on them, _would_ never act on them, he still had that optimistic beat that pervaded his every actions, everything he did and was. Prowl had just ripped all that, everything of Jazz, away.

It was the cruelest thing Prowl had ever done, to tell Jazz he loved him. Jazz wished he'd take it back, take it all back.

Sunstreaker glared up at Ratchet. "I wasn't racing. I just started patrol." Sunstreaker's tire had been tingling and bothering him for a little over an orn now but he had ignored it. Ratchet had been busy, angrily growling at anyone who interrupted him as he poured over the data analysis he had of Prowl from before their 2IC's escape. He was searching for something, anything that he missed, hoping that perhaps if they found him they could put him back to rights. Sunstreaker had tried to interrupt him once after not seeing him in the Rec Room for his nightly energon for cycles only to be shouted at and angrily chased away. He hadn't bothered the CMO again.

"You went 'racing' after Jazz an orn ago though, didn't you?" Ratchet roughly pulled on the tire's assembly housing near Sunstreaker's shoulderjoint.

Sunstreaker's optics traveled from Jazz's supine form on the berth to Ratchet's own. "No, he didn't rat you out," Ratchet snapped. "I know it was you though. Why'd you do it?"

"I have my reasons," Sunstreaker growled, wincing as Ratchet tugged harder than necessary on his tire. He gritted his denta, hissing in pain.

"You helped two critically injured patients of mine escape the Ark. What 'reasons' could you have had, other than helping them to terminate themselves?" Ratchet's vocalizer rose until he was shouting at Sunstreaker.

The Lambo twitched his helm, refusing to meet Ratchet's optics. He said nothing, merely glared at the Seekers as Wheeljack tried to separate the three of them and prep them for their own energon line flushes. Skywarp cheekily waved at the golden twin, smirking over his shoulder before laying down for Wheeljack's procedures.

Ratchet sighed heavily, knowing Sunstreaker wasn't going to share anything more with him. He roughly finished his repairs as the twin sat morose and sulking, jaw cables clenching again and again.

"Your axle's fine. Get out," Ratchet grumbled when he was finished. Sunstreaker fled, not even bothering to glare at the now recharging Seekers on his way out.

Prowl watched it all, spiked fluids slowly filling his near empty internals and refueling his systems. He leaned back against the berth's terminal system, gazing at each of the medbay's occupants. His optics finally settled on the recharging form of Jazz, laid out on the berth across the bay from his.

* * *

Jazz woke from recharge slowly, systems onlining one by one and rising to optimal range for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. Since before this all started. It felt wonderful. Jazz stretched on the berth before pulling himself up into a seated position.

Wheeljack, fussing with a line descending into Skywarp and frowning at the berth terminal, turned at the noise. His audial fins lit up as his optics crinkled and he moved across the bay to Jazz. "Hey Jazz. How do you feel?"

Jazz tilted his helm to the side, smirking. He would never escape that question, it seemed. "I'm alrigh', Wheeljack. Systems feel better now than they have in a while. Thanks."

"You didn't mention you were shot." Wheeljack tilted his own helm to the side, reproach in his tone.

"Eehh, musta forgot 'bout that one." Jazz rubbed the base of his helm, not looking at Wheeljack.

"One of the Seekers?"

"It was before our arrangement. I still wanted to kill 'em." Jazz smiled ruefully up at Wheeljack again as the inventor chuckled.

Jazz glanced around the medbay. The Seekers were still all offline, deep in recharge and being pumped full of fluids. Jazz recognized the sticky yellow fluids descending from the trestle above their berths. "Keeping 'em sedated?"

Wheeljack nodded. "Prowl and Ratchet want them kept under until we figure out what to do with them."

Jazz nodded. "Where is Prowl?"

"Went back up to the Command Deck a few joors ago." Wheeljack paused, looking down at Jazz as the Saboteur stood and stretched one more time. "He's… a little different, isn't he?"

Jazz turned forced happily blank faceplates toward Wheeljack, visor flashing with forced humor. "Nah, that's just Prowler. Back to work, right away." He smiled, forcing his mouthplates to separate and grin.

Wheeljack shook his head, audial fins flashing slowly. He looked Jazz over once, hard. "You sure you're okay?"

Jazz quirked his lipplates and smacked Wheeljack's shoulderjoint quickly before turning and heading out of the medbay. Wheeljack watched him go silently.

* * *

The Command Deck was surprisingly noisy. Jazz could hear the unintelligible shouts from down the hallway as he approached. As soon as he entered though, he understood entirely.

Ironhide, Red Alert and Ratchet all stood near Teletraan 1, hollering at the top of their vocalizers at each other. Red Alert was fuming, livid. He was screaming at Ironhide and Ratchet, and at Prowl though the Enforcer was nowhere to be seen, at the gross and intolerable security breach they had just brought on board. He was insistent that the Seekers be placed immediately in the Brig, medical care be slagged. Ratchet was bellowing back that Red Alert had no right to deny medical care to any mech, Decepticon or Autobot. Ironhide was hollering at the both of them to shut their vocalizers and mouthplates or he'd do it for them.

"Ya'll are yellin' so loudly that we wont need to keep their presence here a secret much longer!" Jazz interjected, speaking loud enough for them all to hear over their shouting match.

Red Alert frowned and shut his mouthplates quickly as Jazz folded his arms and scowled at him. Ratchet didn't bother acknowledging Jazz, merely continued to glower at Red Alert. Ironhide just looked relieved.

"Prowl's in Prime's office, Jazz. He's got Prime on the comm. Ya should head in there. I know Prime wants to see ya." Ironhide motioned towards the closed door of Prime's office before turning back to Ratchet and Red Alert.

Sighing deeply, Jazz steeled himself to face both Prowl and Prime. He palmed open the keypad to Prime's office, entering behind Prowl and overhearing their conversation.

"My confidence in you has never been shaken, Prowl." Prime's deep voice boomed across the comm. link. "I trust you entirely in this matter."

Prowl was standing in front of the dual transmitting-receiving vidscreen, Prime's large body filling the display feed. Prowl was standing stiffly, legs locked out and underneath his wide shoulders, doorwings held high and tight.

Explaining the situation to Prime had taken the better part of a joor, Prowl's simple, factual explanation hiding all the emotional entanglements that came along with their actions. Prime had listened calmly, only the flash of his optics betraying his shock and surprise at Prowl's descriptions. Ratchet had begun the call, quickly explaining Prowl's condition and assuring Prime that Prowl was actually Prowl again, thanks to Starscream's programming. That led into the medical condition of the Seekers, at which point Ratchet just shook his head and sighed, declaring that he had an indescribable amount of work to do.

After Prowl was finished detailing the little he knew of Starscream's plan thus far and his own fears and concerns regarding how to stop the rapidly approaching Quintessons, Prime wasted no time in reinforcing his 2IC's command and confidence with the words he uttered as Jazz entered.

Prowl nodded stiffly. "My first priority is to utilize Starscream's knowledge to help locate and recover Bumblebee's team. Has the US Army been able to locate anything where Starscream indicated?"

Prime sighed. "We're still cross referencing Skyfire's report with both Starscream's information and the small amount of intelligence the Army has been able to collect. Most of it is telling us where not to look instead of where to look." Prime shook his head. "It's frustrating."

Prowl nodded, then turned and acknowledged Jazz's entrance finally. He briefly met Jazz's optics, then looked downward, gesturing for Jazz to join him in front of the vid feed.

Prime exhaled sharply as Jazz came into view. "Jazz. How are you?"

"I'm alright, Prime." Jazz smiled tiredly. "Sorry for runnin' out on ya before. I had to go get Prowler here."

Prowl moved away from Jazz as soon as the Saboteur was standing in front of the vid feed. Jazz felt his friend run away from him as quickly as he could, as if their electric magnetic charges were repelling each other entirely. Prowl stood near the far bulkhead, watching Prime on the display.

"I am relieved you two are alright and safely back in one piece. Given the extraordinary circumstances, I don't think any one of us could have foreseen what has occurred." Prime looked down hard at Jazz, the Saboteur fidgeting from the intense look even through the transmission. "Even so, Jazz. I need you to remember that we all rely on you. All the Autobots look up to you for guidance and leadership. I understand how strongly we all feel for each other, and how we want to rush to each other's aid right away. Especially those we are especially close to." Jazz positively squirmed as Prowl, now errantly tapping on a data pad, squeezed the input display until the sound of cracking glass was heard through Prime's office. "But remember, Jazz: there is a time and a place for individual action. We are all each other has out here and we must stick together. Losing one of you is unthinkable. Losing the both of you… would cripple us entirely."

Silence reigned supreme in the small office. Jazz wouldn't meet Prime's optics through the display and couldn't stop squirming where he stood. Prowl had gone stock still, doorwings high and tight, broken data pad now held uselessly in his lax hands.

Prime continued on, softly. "You made the right choice this time, Jazz. I am afraid of what lies before us though."

Jazz finally looked up, meeting Prime's optics with a too-bright sheen to his visor. "I understand, Prime," he chocked out, gears in his throat grinding over the words.

Prowl quickly crossed back over to the vid feed, standing as far from Jazz as he could while still transmitting his image to Prime. Jazz stepped away from Prowl as well, distancing himself physically from what he couldn't rip away from emotionally.

"I'm putting Jazz in charge of the Autobot's attack on Megatron, Prime." Prowl's voice was cold, contained. "The Seekers and I will engage the Quintessons."

"Are ya crazy?" Jazz exploded, ignoring Prime on the screen and turning to Prowl. "We don't even know what slaggin' scheme Starcreep has cooked up, and ya want to go alone? Just how do you plan on stoppin' 'em without backup?"

Prowl turned his cold optics to Jazz. "We must exploit this intelligence while we have it. Who knows how many of his procedures Megatron has changed since Starscream has been exiled. We must act quickly." Prowl paused, interjecting as Jazz began to protest again. "I will not bring anyone else into his mess, Jazz."

"I'm already in there with ya, Prowl."

"No, you're not, Jazz." Prowl's tone was colder than his optics.

Prime interrupted the two as Jazz reeled back, shock and hurt playing over his faceplates. "Jazz, Prowl is right. We need you on the Ark. Prowl, we can't make any firm plans until we know the rest of the situation. Get with Starscream for a debrief as soon as Ratchet has him online." Prime turned away from the vid feed as a human approached him from behind, a worried frown on his face.

Jazz stared at Prowl, searching his faceplates for any sign of warmth, any sign of his old friend. He couldn't believe Prowl was doing this, was cutting him out so entirely. He understood, even reciprocated, their distance and unease when they were alone, but this? To go into battle alone? Against a superior enemy with only Starscream as his ally? It was suicide, certain death, and obscenely tactically unsound. It wasn't Prowl.

But then again, Jazz thought, Prowl wasn't really Prowl anymore.

He sighed, dropping his optics from Prowl's faceplates and gritting his denta. "This is stupid, Prowl."

Prowl snapped his helm over to Jazz. "Those are my orders," he finally said.

Prime's voice brought them both back to the display screen. "We have a problem."

Prowl and Jazz both frowned and stepped forward, unconsciously stepping closer together. "What is it?" Jazz asked.

"We've located Bumblebee and a few members of his team. He claims the rest of them are alive underneath the Decepticon dampening field they were stuck behind."

Jazz exhaled sharply, sagging his shoulderjoints and releasing a tiny bit of the tension in his spark. "Tha's great, Prime."

"What's the problem?" Prowl was still frowning.

"Bumblebee's probable team location and the estimated Decepticon dampening field size by the US Army doesn't include Eastern China." Prime held Prowl's optics. "Starscream is not telling the truth."

* * *

Prowl positively stalked down the Ark hallway, anger radiating off him as Jazz followed slightly behind him. Prowl's doorwings were twitching back and forth, up and down, visually displaying his rolling rage. Prowl stopped and entered his keycode, moving into the locked medbay with Jazz right behind him.

The Seekers were online, Thundercracker and Skywarp again sitting next to each other on one berth, poking and flicking at each other's repair jobs. Wheeljack had truly done an excellent job with de-dinging their frames and patching their spotty welds. Starscream was sitting up and arguing with Ratchet, gesturing to the spike cord in his arm and pointing an accusing finger at Wheeljack. Wheeljack's audial fins were lit, though he wasn't saying anything.

Prowl didn't waste any time trying to figure out what Starscream's new problem was. He stalked over to the red Seeker's berth, not stopping until he was looming over Starscream and looking down at the suddenly wide-optic'd jet.

"Starscream…" Prowl growled, reaching out and grabbing the Seekers throat in one hand. "You are lying to me."

Thundercracker and Skywarp were off their berth in an instant, rushing to Prowl. Ratchet immediately stood in between the Enforcer and the two Seekers, his large and imposing form blocking their advancement. Jazz ran to Ratchet's side, dropping into a grappling stance and ready to kick out at the Seekers if they continued rushing.

Starscream gasped, arching against Prowl's grip and grasping at his white hand with both of his blue ones. "Lying? I am not!"

Prowl squeezed. "The Decepticons are not in Eastern China."

Starscream gasped again. Ratchet turned to look behind him, shock suffusing his faceplates as he turned fully to Prowl. "Prowl! What are you doing?"

Prowl utterly ignored Ratchet. "Where are they?" He growled, leaning close to Starscream's helm.

"I swear!" Starscream gasped. "That's where I thought they were! I swear!" He clawed at Prowl's hand on his throat cables, gasping again. "I can prove it!"

Thundercracker and Skywarp growled, pressing forward against Jazz. "It's true!" Thundercracker yelled. "That's where they were supposed to be!"

Prowl searched Starscream's optics before letting go of the Seeker's throat. "How can you prove it?"

Starscream gasped and leaned back against the berth, supporting himself with one hand as the other rubbed his throat cables. "Careful, Prowl," he rasped. "I might confuse you with Megatron…"

Prowl's optics flashed angrily as he advanced closer to Starscream, now pinning the red Seeker against the berth. "How can you prove your trustworthiness, Starscream? I will give you _one_ chance." Prowl's vocalizer was low, gravely, angry.

Jazz shared a quick look with Thundercracker. The blue Seeker looked relieved that Starscream was no longer being held in a chokehold, but was still worriedly looking at Prowl. Skywarp glanced at Thundercracker, then promptly disappeared and reappeared on the other side of Starscream's berth, reaching out to touch his trinemate's shoulder vent.

Starscream shook Skywarp's touch off, glancing angrily behind him before fixing his optics back on Prowl's. "I can give you the rest of his spark. You'll see then. You'll know I'm telling the truth."

Prowl frowned down at the Seeker. Wheeljack, stunned and immobile during the whole event, came to stand at the end of the Seeker's berth. "What do you mean?"

Starscream smiled slowly, lipplates curling in a slow sneer. "We have to transfer it spark to spark." He smirked, cocking his helm to the side. "Spark-merge with me, Prowl."

The medbay erupted in a cacophony of noise and startled exclamations. Thundercracker, Skywarp and Jazz each loudly protested their vehemently angry disapproval at the suggestion. Skywarp reached out again for his trinemate, shaking the red jet's shoulderjoint and shouting in his audial. Thundercracker and Jazz bracketed a shouting Ratchet, the medic declaring the two mechs crazy, idiototic, rusting slags of defective glitches. Wheeljack's audial fins were lit and his optic ridges were nearly to his helm fins once more.

"Everyone be quiet." Prowl's voice broke over the medbay shouts. "Ratchet, is Starscream energized enough to merge?"

Jazz reeled back as if shot. He brought his hand up to his chest armor, covering his spark, pulsing and screaming within his chest cavity. This couldn't, wasn't happening. Prowl, _his _Prowl, the love of his life, was going to merge with Starscream? When he wouldn't share his love with Jazz? It was too much, again, for Jazz, and he gasped against the pain.

Thundercracker heard Jazz's gasp and glanced quickly at the pained faceplates of the Autobot Saboteur. Unfortunately he understood, all to well, Jazz's agony. He couldn't contain the pain that reverberated across their bond, Skywarp's lancing hurt shared with Thundercracker in a ceaseless loop, again and again. Starscream rarely, very rarely, and never since they crashed on Earth, spark merged with his trinemates. He refused to share himself with his bondmates, refused to be intimate with them.

But now he was going to be intimate with Prowl. The Autobot 2IC. It was too much to bear.

Ratchet was bellowing at Prowl, now recovered after being struck speechless by Prowl's question. "Prowl, you can't be serious! That's Starscream! You don't know what you're doing!"

"I assure you, Ratchet, I do indeed know what I am doing." Prowl cool tone interrupted Ratchet's tirade, halting the CMO's flow of words.

Jazz groaned, pressing his hand harder into his chest armor. Wheeljack saw him and crossed to stand at Jazz's side, behind Prowl and Ratchet and out of sight of either of them. He didn't say anything, merely glanced at the black and white Saboteur and flashed his audial fins.

"Both of you idiots be quiet!" Starscream glared at his trinemates and shook Skywarp's hands off of him once more. Thundercracker shut up instantly, though Skywarp continued to whine until Starscream reached out and physically pushed the purple Seeker hard in his cockpit away from his berth. Starscream turned back to Prowl, smirking wickedly again.

Ratchet sputtered, glancing between Prowl's hard and determined optics pinning him down and Starscream's wicked faceplates. Finally, breaking the silence that had descended over the medbay, Ratchet sighed heavily and nodded. "He is nearly fully optimized again."

Starscream straightened and flexed his wings, rolling his shoulderjoints as he scooted back on his berth, straddling the surface and making room for Prowl beside him. He patted the berth top while continuing to sneer at the Enforcer.

Prowl waited one astrosecond, searching Starscream's optics and faceplates before reaching for his chestplate and separating the armor pieces while climbing up onto the berth next to Starscream. He turned to the Seeker, one leg hanging off the berth and the other bent at his knee joint, tucking his heel close to his groinplating.

Starscream dragged one blue hand down his cockpit, slowly. "What, Prowl, no foreplay?" He smiled wickedly again, lipplates curling upwards as he tilted his helm to the side and shivered under his own touch.

Skywarp moaned as Thundercracker finally lost it, coming around the berth and gripping his purple trinemate close. "Starscream, stop!" he called out, gritting his denta tightly.

"Shut up, you idiot." Starscream didn't even look at Thundercracker, just held Prowl's own optics. "This has to be done."

Prowl ignored Starscream's taunts. "Open your chest."

Jazz gasped, staggering under the feeling of too much emotion surging through his systems. He couldn't contain the wildly erratic pulsing of his spark, couldn't stop the wavering and shaking of his optics. He wanted to scream, wanted to run, but was rooted to the spot, immobile. Wheeljack's hand tentatively touched his backplating, concerned sadness pouring out of his crinkled optics. Jazz shuddered at the touch though he didn't move, didn't tear his optics from the scene in front of him.

Starscream, still smirking wildly, unclasped his cockpit and separated his chest armor to reveal his spark chamber.

Prowl glanced down at Starscream's spark chamber and started, shocked. The Seeker's spark chamber was hideously disfigured, horrible scores and jagged cuts scratching the surface. It was dented, depressed in on one side, char marks covering the other. Prowl heard Ratchet curse softly behind him.

"Not what you expected?" Starscream sneered.

Prowl looked into Starscream's optics and pushed aside every feeling he held within his processor and spark. He bottled it all up, buried it as deeply as he could, hiding it all away from the soon to be prying invasion of Starscream to his systems. He was trying to contain his own silent screaming, his own complete and utter revulsion at the whole encounter. Prowl knew Jazz was behind him, knew he had followed him to the medbay, but couldn't bear to turn and look into the optics of his… no longer a friend. No longer anything. The thought sent a fresh wave of agony rolling through him that he tried to suppress, barely succeeding.

It would all be over soon, he thought. All of it. Jazz would go on without him. He wouldn't have a choice.

Prowl shook himself from his thoughts as Starscream sneered at him again, mocking smile barely covering the edges of hesitation in the corners of his optics.

Prowl reached out, grasping the Seeker's shoulders in both of his hands and leaned forward, pressing their chests together. He could feel his spark chamber react to the presence of another spark, felt it click open. He felt the cool medbay air circle his spark once before the electric tingle of Starscream's spark brushed his own.

Then all was lost.

Electric energy crashed over and through Prowl and Starscream. Their sparks merged to one, emotions, feelings and images crashing against each other. Starscream had done just what Prowl had during his flashy bravado of encouraging Prowl to merge with him. Neither of them revealed the depth of their feelings or of themselves to each other, blocking and locking their essences away. Starscream pushed into Prowl's spark once, before Prowl snarled defensively and pressed down on the Seeker physically, bearing him backwards down to the berth, Prowl still joined above him.

Starscream gasped and arched his helm back, rocking his chest harder against Prowl's own. Prowl gasped as the last of the Pax energies transferred in one fast rush from Starscream's spark to his own. He shuddered, feeling the energies coalesce, merge and become one inside of him. Prowl offlined his optics at the force of it, gasping again.

Starscream then forced Prowl's attention to his own memories, showing one in crystal clarity. Starscream on the bridge of the Nemesis, arguing with Megatron about their new base. There, on the computer screen, was the layout of the new base with the location clearly delineated as a rural province in Eastern China, mountainous and hidden. Starscream's cold smugness filled Prowl's mind, his spark, and he shuddered under the force of it. Starscream then burned a series of images into Prowl's mind; Starscream's experiments, the first iridium extraction, collapsing in agony in his quarters when he first knew something was wrong. His desperate cries for Switch, interlaced with a cold loneliness that wasn't Starscream's own. His banishment from the Decepticons, Megatron's cold fury staring down at him. Prowl tried to reach for more, grab more information from the red Seeker, but Starscream blocked him out.

Prowl groaned, pushing out of Starscream's mind and preparing to withdraw from the Seeker's spark and body. Starscream reached out once more, grasping at his spark energies frantically before Prowl physically pushed off of the Seeker with a gasping groan.

Prowl fell backwards, rolling off of Starscream with his spark still exposed, groaning again. "Primus…" he moaned. Shame and disgust crawled over his armor, scratching across his optics.

Starscream continued to lie back, gasping. Slowly, he reached up and lowered his cockpit, covering his spark chamber and offlining his optics as he struggled to control his ventilations.

Thundercracker was holding Skywarp in his arms, the purple Seeker's optics shuttered and faceplates buried in Thundercracker's neck collum. Thundercracker couldn't take his optics off of Starscream, mouthplates pressed in a firm, thin line.

Ratchet hesitantly moved towards Prowl, reaching out to touch the Enforcer on his shoulder.

Prowl moaned at the touch, offlining his optics and rolling his helm to the side.

Jazz turned and fled.

* * *

Fire and ice raced through Jazz's lines, coalescing in a whirlwind of quaking feelings and uncontrollable emotions. His vision was shaking, crackling and unable to focus. He staggered around the Ark, hands reaching out and tracing the metal bulkheads of the hallway. His body was shaking, frame creaking and popping under the hurricane of emotions exploding through him. He sucked in great, gasping drags of air, trying too contain his raging systems.

Jazz had never felt this intensely before. He didn't know the name for this emotion, didn't know how to label the swirling rages of this emotion. It had to be spark break. It had to be.

Jazz continued on, barely recognizing where he was going. He didn't see Sunstreaker in front of him until he literally bounced off the golden twin.

Sunstreaker grabbed Jazz around the shoulderjoints, steadying the Saboteur and gazing into his dazed and raging, white-bright visor.

Jazz struggled against the grip. "Lemme go, Sunny," he growled, shaking at the confinement in Sunstreaker's grasp.

Sunstreaker's optics widened. He grabbed Jazz's elbowjoint and hauled him down the opposite hallway. "Come with me."

Jazz pulled against the Lambo, trying to free his elbow. He didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to _be_ with anyone right now. He wanted to wallow, wanted to shriek in agony and pain, wanted to finally stop this unending nightmare. Sunstreaker was in his way.

Sunstreaker dragged the protesting Jazz to the Ark entrance, growling each time Jazz tried to break free. Finally out of the Ark, Sunstreaker threw Jazz down to the ground. "Transform!" he shouted as Jazz flew through the air.

Jazz transformed and landed on two wheels, rolling and rocking until he steadied himself. He wheeled around and faced Sunstreaker, now in his vehicle mode as well, revving his engine angrily.

Sunstreaker answered his engine rev with a throttle of his own, gunning his engine several times before tearing off away from the Ark, swiping Jazz as he passed far too close for comfort.

Jazz tore off after him.

They raced across the desert, Jazz tearing angrily after Sunstreaker, screaming and shouting curses full of pain and hatred at Prowl, Starscream, Sunstreaker, himself and his entire life. His shouts turned to growls and angry revs of his engine as Jazz tried to crash into Sunstreaker, again and again.

Sunstreaker was silent the whole time, letting Jazz vent his frustrations out to the air. Once Jazz started tearing into him, trying to get him to crash into each other, Sunstreaker had enough. He cursed, transforming middrive, feeling Jazz do the same as their armored plating scraped against each other at far too fast speeds.

Sunstreaker reached for Jazz's helm, grabbing it and slamming it downwards into his chestplates. Jazz flailed outwards, grasping for Sunstreaker's ear vents, grabbing his helm and twisting. They crashed through the air, hitting the desert floor hard and both grunting in pain. Jazz recovered first after landing on top of Sunstreaker. He reared up, slamming his fists into Sunstreaker's chest and neck, beating the Lambo with all his frustrations and pain.

Sunstreaker grabbed Jazz's hands mid swing and twisted, pulling the Saboteur's arms awkwardly away from his chest. Jazz hissed in pain as Sunstreaker twisted hard, then rolled off Sunstreaker to relieve the tension in his elbowjoints. Sunstreaker followed him, scrambling to his feet and stalking, circleing the now-standing Jazz in a gladiatorial fighting stance.

Jazz snarled, rushing the golden Lambo without finesse, blind rage fueling his actions. He beat his fists into any armor plating he could hit, not caring about tactics or defense. Sunstreaker raised his forearms to deflect as many shots as possible, finally grasping Jazz's hands in his own.

Jazz lashed out with another growl and kicked Sunstreaker in the chestplate, knocking the ventilations offcycle in the twin and knocking him to the ground. Jazz jumped on top of Sunstreaker, raising his hands in a double fist, ready to bring them down viciously into Sunstreaker's faceplates.

Sunstreaker hooked his legs around Jazz's abdominal plating, twisting and rolling the Saboteur off of him. Sunstreaker leapt on top, pinning Jazz's hands to his chest plating and laying his full body weight on top of Jazz. "Yield, Jazz!"

Jazz struggled against Sunstreaker's hold, rage still arching across his circuits in a firestorm of too-hot emotion. He gasped, half sobbing, half growling and struggled again.

"Yield!" Sunstreaker shouted again. "It's done!"

Jazz started shaking uncontrollably, melting himself underneath and into the Lambo twin's grasp. He dragged in breaths in shaky gasps, knocking his helm back against the desert floor.

Sunstreaker glared down at him for several astroseconds, feeling the tension wash out of Jazz's frame as he became limp underneath him. Sighing, he rolled off the Saboteur with a groan, stretching out his damaged plating and joints beside the shaking, gasping, sobbing 3IC.

After several breems, Jazz's shaking finally stilled, his breaths coming in quiet gasps, in and out. Sunstreaker swallowed, rolling his badly damaged hipjoint. "It hurts, too much," he began softly, "when they don't love you back."

Jazz rolled his helm to the side, staring at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker refused to look at Jazz, refused to expand on his statement, just gritted his denta and stared up at the cloudless sky.

Jazz rolled his helm back to stare up at the sky as well. Something snapped in him, something broke apart somewhere during his drive with Sunstreaker. He didn't know how to fix it, how to repair this missing piece of his soul except for one thing. There was a Prowl-sized hole where his spark should be, sparking and pulsing in time to the reverberating, exquisite pain of seeing Prowl and Starscream, arching against each other and gasping, replaying in his processor, again and again.

Jazz knew, deep in the core of himself, what was fundamental to his existence, to his life. He knew where he got his strength from, where the essence of himself, the best that he was capable of being and becoming came into his life. He had shared the best of himself, the very fabric of his life with Prowl for so long that his life was no longer his own. He had given it all to Prowl, sharing the highs and lows, the ups and down with him until their lives had intertwined, inextricable.

Or so he thought. Prowl had just viciously ripped them apart.

Jazz sat up and buried his helm in his hands, shaking it back and forth. His armor was burning, scratched and torn where he and Sunstreaker had crashed. He had fresh new dents on his plating, new breaks in his cables and joints. Ratchet was going to kill them both. Jazz didn't much care.

The worst part, he thought pitifully, was that he couldn't do anything, _anything _to help Prowl. Prowl was facing one of the hardest things in his life, Jazz knew, and he couldn't do a thing to share the burden with him. Prowl had entirely, effectively pushed Jazz completely out of their lives. Jazz was left on the outside, staring inward and aching to help, just a bit, to do anything for Prowl.

But Prowl had all the help he needed, all he wanted. In _Starscream_.

Jazz groaned again as the images of their merge flooded back through his processor, breaking him apart once more. He had heard Prowl's gasps, his moans, things he had dreamt of and fantasized over, sounds he had wondered himself just what they would sound like. What octave, what pitch? What range? What note was the sound of Prowl's pleasure? What symphony did he create, when moaning, when arching in pleasure?

Jazz knew now, unfortunately, though he was disgusted with the knowledge. He had always wanted to drag those sounds from him himself, always dreamt of holding the Enforcer close and cradling his helm as he kissed him gently, their sparks arching against each other in a perfect electrical circuit.

But it wasn't for Jazz. That was for Starscream. _Starscream._

Aching, Jazz staggered to his feet. He turned to Sunstreaker, still lying on the ground. "Ya alright?"

Sunstreaker wouldn't meet his optics. "I'm fine," he growled, not moving.

Jazz nodded, transformed painfully, and sped off to the Ark.

Jazz made it back to the Ark in record time, tearing across the desert till his engine redlined and he was in danger of blowing a fuel line. He drove into the Ark, scanning over the comm lines until he found whom he was looking for, transforming only when he entered the interior. Jazz ran down the hallways until he stopped at the correct door.

He beat on the doorframe wildly, uncontrollably. When it was finally opened, Jazz grabbed his shoulderjoints and pushed him backwards into his quarters, snarling at the other's protests. "Shut up!" He shouted. "I need to fraggin' talk to you!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Crash Into You**

Chapter Ten

* * *

**Thank you for all of your wonderful comments, reviews and support.**

* * *

It was entirely an accident, one only Fireflight could have created, that led the entire Ark to discovering the presence of the Decepticon 2IC and his trine onboard.

Skyfire had been in his lab with Silverbolt early that cycle, calibrating Silverbolt's flight sensors when Ironhide's call had come through to collect Prowl, Jazz and their three visitors. Something hadn't felt right to Skyfire, aside from the shock and confusion surrounding their 2 & 3IC's return after the violent drama surrounding their escape. Something was niggling at his spark, though he didn't say anything to Silverbolt or to Ironhide.

As he flew closer and closer to their coordinates, the ceaseless worry and unease had blossomed into full-formed shock when he circled above and saw the unmistakable form of Starscream there with his trine, and off to the side, Jazz and Prowl standing apart with Bluestreak and Hound.

_Should have known_, he thought to himself as he landed. Nothing in his life had ever inspired such strong feelings in Skyfire as Starscream did. Ever.

After flying them back to the Ark, in what was an extremely uncomfortable breem of having Starscream inside his hangar once more, Skyfire had fled back to his lab, trying to ignore the swirling emotions the Decepticon Air Commander riled up inside of him, each time. Silverbolt was waiting from him, just as Skyfire had asked him to. He certainly wasn't interested in working anymore though, and didn't think he could concentrate enough to calibrate Silverbolt's sensors properly. He was about to beg off, ask Silverbolt to come back later when the silver Concorde had reached out to touch his arm, worried confusion covering his faceplates.

Skyfire had just let go then, dropping himself onto his lab bench with a sigh. He poured it out to Silverbolt then, everything. Collecting Prowl and Jazz that morning and the Seeker trine with them. Starscream, and what he had said. Their history together, his crash landing into the ice. His revival, 5 million years later.

Silverbolt listened in silence. He and his brothers had joined the Ark after Skyfire was already there, already revived and recovered from the ice both times. They had never spoken about Skyfire's unique history, his former, albeit brief, time as a Decepticon, and his past with Starscream. Silverbolt never had a reason to question his friend on his past, always assuming that Skyfire had been with the Ark crew since Iacon. What he heard shocked him. But, in the end, when Skyfire was done talking, Silverbolt was holding his large hand in both of the Concorde's own, looking into his optics and smiling up at him. "I'm glad you are here with us," he said. "You are the best friend I've ever had."

Skyfire realized at that instant, fully and unequivocally, that he had made the right choice in leaving Starscream and the Decepticons. There wasn't a cycle that went by before when he hadn't wondered over the 'what if's,' the possibilities that he had turned away from. But Starscream's coldness, the empty shell of what he once was, couldn't match this, couldn't ever match the unconditional friendship extended to him from Silverbolt, his argumentative and bickering brothers and the rest of the Autobots.

5 million years later and far, far from Cybertron, Skyfire finally felt back at home. He smiled back at Silverbolt.

That morning had had a significant impact on Silverbolt as well, and as he joined his brothers that afternoon for maneuver practice, he realized he couldn't shield all his thoughts or feelings entirely from them. They had felt his surging emotions that morning and knew it had something to do with Skyfire. The rumors were already flying across the Ark, the officer-access-only locked medbay and Huffer's swear that he had seen Prowl stalking down the hallway, Jazz hot on his backplating, fueling every 'bots wild speculation. They knew Skyfire had left the Ark for several breems that morning, decided it must have had something to do with everything going on, and pestered Silverbolt endlessly for more information.

Silverbolt, trying to keep his friend's confidence, wouldn't budge. That didn't stop his brothers from wildly speculating about the supposed miraculous return of Jazz and Prowl and their darker suspicions of just what had happened to keep them locked in the medbay. Skydive wondered aloud if what Prowl had was contagious, and if Jazz now had whatever-it-was too. Air Raid took over at that point, worrying that they had come back to infect the rest of the Ark. Slingshot thought both his brothers were glitches and said so, often.

Fireflight was lost in his own thoughts, wondering if Prowl truly was back, and if he was, what that meant. Was Prowl all right? He certainly hoped so. He cared very deeply for the 2IC, looking up to Prowl as an almost-creator figure. The only mechs that had cared about Fireflight had been his own brothers, and even they were occasionally gruff with him. Prowl had taken time to learn just who he was, and how he was, and then had offered to help.

Fireflight didn't like crashing all the time and didn't like being known as the flying disaster on the Ark. He had tried to fix it, tried to control himself, but the wildly spiking sensor data he received from his too-sensitive sensor network always dazzled him. This planet was amazing, gorgeous, and full of all manner of incredibly complex things. He could lose himself in the swirling crosscurrents of air for joors, float through the waspy, wispy, watery waves of the puffy white clouds, scream down to the desert floor and fly low and slow across the sand, feeling it scratch against his underbelly again and again and again. And never be bored.

Prowl helped him focus, helped target his sensors on what was appropriate. He didn't take away Fireflight's wonder at the world around him, not like his brothers kept teasingly threatening to beat out of him, but instead augmented it, showing Fireflight how the world around him could help or hinder his brothers, their flying, and the rest of the Autobots. Prowl showed him how the desert floor, the canyons and the mountains could all shield and hide not only him and his brothers, but could also hide the enemy. He taught him and entirely new way to see the world, and thus, how to fly.

What Fireflight liked most of all though was that Prowl would smirk and sometimes chuckle at the treasures Fireflight found and brought back. It became a game to them for Fireflight to show the 2IC just what he had found and then explain how he had tactically approached and correctly executed the maneuvers to recover his found treasure. Fireflight didn't understand the grumbles of the rest of the Ark crew at times, when they were complaining over the 2IC's harsh punishments, strict rules, and ordered performance. Sideswipe had once angrily flopped onto the couch in the Rec Room and declared Prowl the biggest aft he'd ever met, and a tight-aft to boot. Fireflight's optics had gone wide, mouthplates dropping open, but the rest of the room had laughed at the red Lambo, telling him he certainly deserved his punishmen. Sideswipe seemed to get over his sulking quickly. His optics lit up in their cheerfully devious way and he leaned forward on his kneejoints, waggling his optic ridges and reenacting the prank that had landed him on the wrong side of Prowl.

Fireflight was unfortunately lost in his thoughts over Prowl and completely missed the human's power lines that were crossing the desert just in front of his brother's flight path. Each of his brothers gracefully rose above and over the lines, expecting Fireflight to follow. Fireflight felt an electric jolt, felt his wing shear and then his body impact a rather hard, wiry surface, bounce back and forth between the lines, and then started to fall to the Earth. Slingshot's voice rang out over the comm, "Oh slag, not again!"

_If Prowl was back_, Fireflight thought, _he wouldn't be pleased_.

* * *

Ratchet cared deeply for all the mechs on the Ark. He knew them all inside and out, literally, and felt very strongly towards their continued existence.

That cycle however, he wanted to offline all of them and open a junk lot down in California.

It seemed that every mech had wanted to wander into the medbay that morning, officer-access-only lock be fragged. Each was complaining of sensor pain, sticking joints, worrying gears, or scratched and dented armor. Nothing important and nothing that couldn't wait. Also, nothing that anymech, aside from the Lambo twins or Mirage, would ever rush to take care of before or beat down Ratchet's door for mech medical aid. He didn't miss their wide-optic'd attempts to glance around the medbay, each time one of them tried to enter. He shoved them all out and down the hall to Hoist, refusing to let them in the doorway.

Hoist and First Aid had tentatively called him a joor after Prowl and Starscream's impromptu spark-merge and requested to use the medbay for a patient. Ratchet, still angry and frustrated over seeing Prowl and Starscream merge, had growled and grumbled at them to explain why they wanted to interrupt his delicate work on the fussy Seekers.

First Aid had sighed and explained Fireflight had limped into their workroom a few joors ago, carrying part of his right wing and looking quite glum. They hadn't been able to raise Ratchet on the comm when Fireflight first came in, and couldn't get the wing reattached with what they had here. They had Fireflight on energon and pain sensor deadeners at the moment, but needed to get his wing reattached. At First Aid's tone, Ratchet wondered if Fireflight needed his wing back on that moment, or if First Aid and Hoist needed Fireflight our of their area. Pain deadening fluids had funny reactions in mechs; some relaxed as if under sedation. Others lost all inhibitions, the absence of pain now interrupted as giddy pleasure by their CPU.

Ratchet told First Aid to bring Fireflight to medbay in a few breems. He then dragged the Seekers, Thundercracker and Skywarp sulking and refusing to look at a very quiet Starscream into the back surgical suite.

He heard First Aid enter a few breems later, talking in a low, calm tone and sounding as if he was herding a particularly wild and flighty mech-tiger over to a berth. Ratchet heard a high pitched giggle, and then a crash, then First Aid's heavy sigh and knew Fireflight was one of the giddy ones.

Ratchet was fussing with Starscream's wings, the ailerons and elevators sticking and not rising properly. He swiped a finger into the joint, grumbling when it came out caked with dust and dirt. "What the slag have you been doing to get your wings full of dirt, Starscream?" He moved away, starting to drag out the suction catheters he kept for the Aerialbots wingjoints. "You're overflowing in it!"

Starscream finally glared over at his trine. "Really?" He purred out, vocalizer low and dangerously smooth. "I can't imagine where I picked up all this dirt."

Thundercracker frowned, sighing at Starscream as Ratchet returned with the suction catheter. He was entirely unprepared for Skywarp's sudden burst of hysterical laughter and Starscream's startled gasp, then groan.

"Don't you have a brush or something?" Starscream yelped.

Ratchet frowned, looking at the catheter in his hand. "A brush? That will take forever, Starscream. Hold still." He reached out roughly for the red Seeker's wings, feeling him tense underneath his hold as he jammed the suction tip into the elevator joint a bit harder than was necessary and turned it on. For half a breem, Starscream was silent, gripping the edge of the berth and gritting his denta as Ratchet worked. He cleared one elevator, then the other and started in on the ailerons.

That was all Starscream could take.

In an entirely undignified squeal and peal of giggling laughter, Starscream melted forward against the berth, gasping in gulps of air and shrieking in hysterics. Ratchet was so shocked he stopped his suction for an astrosecond, stepping back and wondering if he'd somehow damaged the red jet. Thundercracker chuckled. "It's nothing. He's just incredibly ticklish." Skywarp was still grinning madly next to Thundercracker, the both of them enjoying Starscream's discomfort greatly.

Back in the medbay and oblivious to the happenings of the back surgical suite, First Aid had finally deposited Fireflight, still clutching his wing piece to his chestplates and swinging his legs back and forth on one of the berths. First Aid left to get the welding materials from Ratchet's storeroom.

Fireflight was happily humming to himself, glancing around at the colors and sounds of the medbay in cheerful amusement. As he swung his legs back and forth, he realized he could hear something else, something that sounded vaguely familiar. He focused in on the sound, realizing with a start that it was the suction wand that Ratchet used on him and his brothers when they came home filthy. It was also used by Ratchet to gesticulate wildly when threatening the lot of them with reformatting. He grinned. Fireflight had been in Hoist's area for a while and hadn't been in contact with his brothers, who, he thought, were still out there flying. But what if one of them were here? Who could it be? In his blitzed state, Fireflight didn't think at all about sensing his brothers through his bond. He had been projecting his stoned and chirpy feelings for the joor while his brothers had been trying to fly. They had effectively blocked him out.

Fireflight hopped off his berth to investigate, still clutching his wing piece to his chestplates as if it were a sparkling toy.

Fireflight checked underneath the berths, not seeing any other flyers or anyone for that matter in the medbay. As he straightened up, dizzy with too much input to his sensor net, he finally looked back at the surgical suite and keyed into the suction sound immediately. He grinned, prancing over to the door and preparing to sneak it open to surprise whichever brother of his was in with Ratchet when he heard the scratchy squeal erupt from inside.

Terrified at what Ratchet was doing to his brother, he flung open the door.

Ratchet, suction in one hand digging into the red jet's ailerons and the other hand pinning Starscream's down while the red Seeker shrieked at the top of his vocalizer, whirled at the sound of the door being thrown open. Thundercracker and Skywarp jumped, momentarily distracted from their glee at Starscream's predicament.

Fireflight's optics widened as far as they could, blitzing from indigo to white in a shock of panic. His instant lash of spark-deep fear reverberated across the bond he shared with his brothers, knocking them all out of formation outside the Ark and sending them crashing to the ground in their mech modes. As one, they transformed and flew as fast as they could back to the Ark, not even transforming until they physically couldn't fit in the hallways and racing the last distance to the medbay. Slingshot and Air Raid ripped the medbay door in half and the rest of the flyers poured into the medbay with their rifles out.

Fireflight had backed out of the surgical suite even as Ratchet had barked at him to stand still. He fled into the main room, First Aid reemerging from Ratchet's storeroom at that moment and seeing Fireflight's panicked expression and then where he had just emerged from. Ratchet had privately shared with the medteam the Seeker's presence onboard. He didn't know what sort of assistance he might need and wanted all his medics ready to help.

First Aid's panicked thoughts of "Oh frag, Oh frag, Oh frag!" lanced out through the bond he shared with his own brothers, and within astroseconds of the Aerialbots dramatic entrance to the medbay, the Protectobots raced in as well, brandishing their own rifles and ready to destroy whatever had so panicked their brother.

Neither of the combiner teams had expected to find Fireflight, optics wide and shaking, frozen in the middle of the medbay with a very angry Ratchet looming over the young flyer and cursing wildly. Their optics all swiveled immediately to the blue Seeker that emerged from the surgical suite an astrosecond later. As one, they raised their rifles to obliterate Thundercracker. He raised his arms defensively, palms up. He was missing, as was the rest of his trine, their tell-tale arm rays.

"All of you, stop!" Ratchet's voice thundered across the medbay. "There's no shooting in my medbay!"

Unfortunately, the racing of both the Aerialbots and the Protectobots through the Ark in a blind panic had alerted the rest of the Autobots to some sort of drama occurring somewhere on their Ark. Huffer had followed the Protectobots as Mirage and Sideswipe raced after the Aerialbots after almost being flattened by their erratic flying through the hallways.

When Mirage, Sideswipe, Huffer, Cliffjumper and Hound burst in after the combiner teams, Ratchet sighed heavily and glared down at Fireflight again, still shaking and clutching his wing to his chest.

"Ratchet to Ironhide. We've got a problem in the medbay."

* * *

Prowl had escaped back to the Command Deck, shuttering himself in Prime's office after fleeing the medbay. After fleeing Starscream. After fleeing the unreadable optics and faceplates of Ratchet and Wheeljack.

He had comm'd back to Prime, not managing to speak directly to him, but left a message with one of the Army human personnel. He told them he confirmed Starscream's truthfulness, but refused to expand on how. After disconnecting the comm, Prowl collapsed backwards against the bulkhead, shaking and burying his helm in his hands. He slid down, crashing to the floor and steadying himself with one hand before he slid to the side and laid out flat on the floor.

Starscream's coldness, his iciness, his ever-present bitterness had seeped into Prowl's mind, poisoning his thoughts and feelings. It was horrific, it was terrible. It was cold and unbearably, unspeakably lonely. He could still feel the phantom glances of icy tendrils of Starscream's spark circling his own, trying to draw him deeper. He shook with revulsion, trying to block out the feeling of Starscream inside his spark.

There hadn't been any bonding, no merging of their selves. It was simply a sharing of emotions, the passing of Pax from one to another. Images, memories of Starscream's, his way to prove his innocence. It hadn't meant anything, hadn't affected him. It wasn't intimacy, wasn't intimate. Not in any definition of the word.

Then why was he shaking so uncontrollably, still fighting the horrible shadowing presence of Starscream in his mind?

Prowl hadn't spark merged with anyone in vorns, hundreds of vorns. Since well before the Ark mission. Since he'd fallen for Jazz. He'd had a few partners in his younger years, when he didn't control his emotions so much and when he didn't feel so strongly. Once Jazz was in his life and once his emotions had to be locked safely away, once his spark was no longer his own… he hadn't thought, not once, about spark merging with another. The only time he thought about it, rarely, if ever, he would idly wonder about Jazz.

_Jazz_… Prowl buried his helm in his hands. He knew Jazz had followed him into the medbay. Had Jazz stayed to see that? Had he seen Prowl spark to spark with Starscream? Prowl hoped not, hoped to Primus that Jazz wouldn't have endured that horrific sight. Another part of Prowl did hope though, a twisted, dark, cold part of him did hope that Jazz had seen it all. If Jazz had seen Prowl with Starscream, hopefully he would realize the Enforcer was dirty, was filthy, was ugly and tainted now, corrupted and unworthy of the Saboteur's care and affection. He'd run away, far away from Prowl. He'd be safe. Safe away from him.

Part of him hoped.

The rest of him buried his helm in his hands again, shaking throughout his frame and struggling to put out of his mind the feeling of Starscream. He tried to think of happier times, of before everything, back when he and Jazz were all each other needed. He thought back to the grassy field in Oklahoma just before Jazz had woken up, holding and cherishing the Saboteur in his arms as the sunshine warmed their armor.

It would all be over soon. He wouldn't feel this pain anymore then. He'd wait for Jazz on the other side; perhaps then they could be together, finally. That thought was the only thing keeping him going.

A joor later, after he had collected himself and buried his swirling emotions back underneath his steadily cracking control, Ironhide interrupted Prowl's review of Skyfire's report with a terse and gruff comment that their little secret was out. Ratchet had a medbay full of armed and incredibly pissed off mechs, and Prowl needed to emerge and say something... finally. Ironhide didn't say the last word, but the sentiment was still there beneath his words.

Prowl sighed and ordered everyone to the Rec Room. Ratchet still had work to do. The Seekers were truly in bad shape, and he couldn't imagine the wrath of the medic at being interrupted by near the entire Ark. He told Ironhide to assemble the mechs and that he'd be there in a few breems. Walking down to the Rec Room, Prowl once again thought back to Jazz. He wished desperately that Jazz were there with him right then. Jazz always knew how to talk with the 'bots, always knew how to interact with them, always knew how to best relate and understand their feelings. Prowl, partly out of necessity as 2IC and partly out of his nature, kept his distance from the socializing of the crew. He'd been stumped, flummoxed even, when he'd felt the outpouring of concern from the mechs when all of this had begun. He expected that sort of feeling for Jazz, for the officer that went out of his way to befriend and understand the mechs on the Ark.

He briefly thought to comm Jazz but couldn't do it. Every thought of Jazz was now shrouded in pain, covered in shame and fear over what he had done and everything that had happened between them. Wherever Jazz was, he was better there than here with Prowl.

When Prowl entered the Rec Room, he could barely hear Ironhide's shouts and cursed threats over the hollering and bellowing of the assembled mechs. Huffer's unmistakably whiny tone was a pitch perfect counterpoint to Cliffjumper's wildly angry accusations against the hidden Seekers. The Protectobots and Aerialbots were shrieking, demanding to know what had frightened their brothers so much and what the Seekers had done to them. Bluestreak was babbling away to a very shocked looking Inferno, next to an incredibly pissed and uncomfortable Red Alert. Mirage, looking a bit sheepish, was next to Hound; Prowl wondered if Ironhide had laid into the Spy. Skyfire, Grapple, Hoist and Wheeljack were silent, set back from the shrieking mechs. Sideswipe was leaning back against the far bulkhead his normally cheery faceplates dark and gloomy. Neither Sunstreaker nor Jazz were anywhere to be seen.

All sound stopped as soon as Prowl entered the room. Every pair of optics snapped to him, mouthplates dropping open in shock. "Now that I have your attention…" Prowl began.

Nearly a joor later, after Ironhide silenced several shocked gasps and oddly disjointed stares, frowns and cries of confusion and Prowl had finished his heavily abbreviated recitation of events, the Rec Room exploded once more in noise. Shouts of confusion and cries of what next exploded around the room. Ironhide bellowed for them all to be silent.

"Quiet!" Prowl barked. Most mechs instantly stopped chattering. "Ciffjumper. Huffer." Prowl glared at each of them until they too fell silent. "Just this morning, Prime confirmed that Bumblebee, Brawn,and two humans were located by an Army search team. They are looking for the rest of the team as we speak." The mixture of relief and gear-seizing worry lanced through the room. "I am convinced that Megatron's new strategy is tied up with what Bumblebee and his team stumbled into. Starscream will help us to uncover just what this is."

Red Alert finally spoke up, unable to contain his bursting worries any longer. "How can we trust him, Prowl? He's a Decepticon, the worst of them. He's Starscream!" The assembled mechs all quickly agreed, chimes of disbelief and annoyance at the Seeker's presence on base in their voices.

Prowl couldn't stop the stabbing chill from burying itself in his spark. He felt the Seeker's cold presence shadowing his processor again, circling his spark. He pushed it aside. "We can trust him. I know." His tone held no room for doubt, left no room for the mechs to argue.

"But what about the other thing? The… Quintessons?" Mirage's carefully measured tones were edged with fear, with uncertainty.

"The Seekers and I will address the Quintessons. We will form a battle strategy and engage them before they arrive on Earth."

"And that thing in you." Sideswipe, unusually sulky and seemingly like his brother glumly said from the corner.

Prowl bored into Sideswipe's optics. "Yes. Pax and I have now merged." He held Sideswipe's glare until the red Lambo turned away, looking out across the room to nothing.

"For right now," Prowl stated, looking over the assembled mechs. "We need to focus on recovering Bumblebee and his team and on discovering just what Megatron is up to. Starscream will help us with that first. " He paused, looking again across the room. "I need all of you to come together for this. Not for Starscream, but for Bumblebee and the others."

The uncomfortable looks the mechs shared around the room just made Prowl wish that Jazz were there next to him all the more. Jazz would know just what to say right now, this moment, to help the mechs.

Not knowing what to do or what to say, Prowl nodded to Ironhide, turned, and left the Rec Room.

* * *

Ratchet had finished his repairs to the Seekers while Prowl was finishing in the Rec Room. He comm'd the Enforcer and asked him to come to the medbay to discuss their release. Red Alert trailed quickly after Prowl, demanding to know just where the Seekers were going to be staying while on board.

Back in the medbay and facing Starscream, Prowl felt the rage and anger rolling within him begin to rise. He tried to ignore the Seeker entirely, but Starscream seemed intent on being a bitching glitch. He was whining as loud and as haughtily as he could, demanding to recharge in private quarters and to recover after his sub-par mech medical care. Ratchet glared at him from across the medbay and looking ready to beat the Seeker to termination with the welding device he was neatly, if forcefully, putting away.

Fireflight was entirely unconscious and strapped down to a berth face down, his right wing having been successfully reattached and welded together. Heavy sedatives were drenching his systems, calming his panic and counteracting the giddiness of the pain deadeners. Ratchet wasn't taking any chances with Fireflight though, and in what was probably a vengeful fit of strapping at Fireflight's bringing the base down on top of him, Ratchet secured him - overly so - to the berth.

Ratchet was quick to exclaim that the Seekers were not welcome in his medbay. The medbay was not visiting quarters, not even for traitorous Decepticons. That comment earned him rage filled glares from all the Seekers, Skywarp's sputtering and indignation meshing perfectly with Starscream's insults at Ratchet's mech medical skills and knowledge of flyer builds.

Prowl turned to Red Alert. "Red, empty Prime's quarters."

Red Alert's shocked faceplates matched the disbelief on Ratchet's own. "Prime's quarters? Primus, Prowl!" the medic growled.

"We don't have any empty quarters at the moment. I will not inconvenience an Autobot on the base or out on mission to accommodate them." Prowl glared at the Seekers, though Starscream's wicked sneer unnerved Prowl.

"It's just fine, Prowl." Starscream said, still smirking. "Prime's quarters are _almost _adequate for our station."

Prowl couldn't stop the shudder that ran through his frame at Starscream's tone, sliding down his backstruts and sinking into his frame in icy firebursts. He turned to Ratchet and Red Alert. "They'll stay here until Red has Prime's quarters emptied. Red, escort them to Prime's quarters when you're through."

Red Alert nodded, continuing to glare at the three Seekers.

Prowl inhaled and turned to face Starscream once more. "You three have had your weapons removed. As of this moment, you are guests here, not prisoners. You may stay in your quarters, go to the Rec Room for energon, or see Ratchet for mech medical care. Other than that, the rest of the Ark is off limits to you without an escort. Understand?"

Thundercracker and Skywarp nodded. Starscream continued to smirk at Prowl, but finally nodded, his optics traveling down Prowl's frame slowly.

Red Alert sputtered. "Sir! We should post a guard, or three, outside Prime's quarters! I can install a camera in that hallway! I just need a few joors!"

Prowl shook his head. The officer's quarters were off limits to Red Alert's cameras. There was some privacy that came with being an officer. All mechs had rotations on monitor duty, and watching the comings and goings of their officers, and potentially their working, classified conversations, wasn't something the enlisted mechs were privy to see or hear.

"No, Red. It's not worth it. The entire Ark knows the Seekers are here. They wont be able to do anything. If they try, Ratchet will have to rebuild them from scratch. _If_ he even wants to." He glared at the Seekers as they lounged back against the medbay berths, clearly setting in to wait until they were escorted to Prime's quarters. "Get started."

Red nodded, glared at the Seekers once more for good measure, and fled.

Ratchet motioned for Prowl to join him in his office. Prowl clenched his jaw, gritting his denta as he walked after the medic and ignoring along with Thundercracker and Skywarp Starscream's lascivious smirk in his direction.

Once inside, Ratchet seemed suddenly unsure of himself. He met Prowl's optics, then looked quickly away, grasping at a data pad on this desk and flexing the casing. "Are you alright, Prowl?"

Prowl was once again entirely uncomfortable with this conversation, with being in the medbay and with being anywhere near Starscream. He wanted no memories, no reminders of what he had done and of what Starscream had done to him. He shuddered, the icy chill of Starscream traveling down his systems and wrapping around his spark.

"I'm fine, Ratchet," he said coldly, moving towards the door to leave. "Is that all?"

* * *

Prime's quarters, Starscream discovered, were no bigger or more opulent than any other room on the Ark. Prowl had specifically chosen Prime's quarters due to the overlarge berth they all could spread out on without compromising their wings and because their Prime had barely any belongings. It took Red Alert barely a breem to remove everything from Prime's quarters. He had a few personal data pads, some Earth trinkets gifted to him from various humans and governmental bodies and not much else. Prowl's quarter's held more inside them.

Starscream was pacing, inspecting every shelf, every cubby hole and checking to see if Red Alert had missed anything as Thundercracker and Skywarp sat down exhausted on the berth. They both eyed the private washrack in the corner greedily.

"Get in there and clean off," Starscream snapped. Wheeljack had given them all a medbay wash, solvent and rags in a quick wipedown while they were sedated, but they all needed a proper washing and waxing. Thundercracker helped Skywarp over to the washrack before turning back to Starscream.

"I still want to know what makes you think we are benefiting from this situation. We're prisoners here, without our weapons and surrounded by the Autobots. What _benefit_ is there?"

Starscream straightened and sneered at Thundercracker, his hands on his hips. "TC, do you doubt me? We are exactly where we need to be. Inside the Autobots. Gaining their trust." He smiled slowly, wickedly, as his words slowed and dripped with scorn and sweet betrayal.

Skywarp, now standing under the warm water of the washrack, sighed tiredly. "Do you ever stop, Starscream? Do you always have a plan?" Thundercracker joined him, not looking at their Air Commander and grabbed one of Prime's overlarge brushes to scrub at his trinemates frame roughly.

"Shut up." Starscream turned away from the two of them. Neither Thundercracker nor Skywarp offered for the red jet to join them. They knew he'd never accept.

The pounding on the door started just as the two were drying each other off and stepping out of the washracks, startling them all. Starscream, closest to the door, palmed it open, glaring out at whoever was interrupting them.

He did not expect the raging form of Jazz to plunge through their doorway, faceplates twisted in an angry snarl as he grappled Starscream and pushed him backwards into their quarters.

Starscream started to sputter, tried to reach out to grab at Jazz, but was horribly off balance from the suddenness of Jazz's assault. "Shut up!" Jazz snarled. "I need to fraggin' talk to you!"

Jazz slammed Starscream backwards into Prime's bulkhead, shifting his weight and pinning the Seeker's body with his hip as his forearm slid to press on Starscream's throat. Starscream gasped, reaching up to try to pry Jazz's arm away, to try to relieve the pressure on his sensitive gears. With his other hand, Jazz reached to the base of the Seeker's helm and found the ascending energon line, feeding the processor. He wrapped his fingers around it.

Starscream gasped and froze. He shot his optics over to his trinemates, surprisingly still at the sight. "Help me, idiots!"

Thundercracker regarded him impassively, Skywarp frowning at Starscream at his side. Neither moved to defend their trinemate. Starscream's optics widened, a panicked gasp escaping his vocalizer as Jazz pressed down with his forearm once more.

"Can ya do it again?" Jazz hissed. "Can ya bring out another spark?"

Starscream frowned at Jazz, confused. "What in the Pit are you talking about, Autobot? Let me go!"

Jazz ground his forearm in harder, squeezing and pulling on the energon line at the base of Starscream's helm. Starscream gasped against the pain and the pressure from both sides, his optics growing dim. "Can ya extract another spark from the iridium, like ya did with Pax? Can ya bring back others?" Jazz's vocalizer was barely contained, hissing in rage.

Starscream froze and stopped his struggles against the Saboteur. "What are you trying to do?"

"Just answer me!"

"There were only two mechs alive when the ship crashed!" Starscream could still see the inside of the ship, still feel the bridge exploding around him as they crashed into the Quintessons. It didn't matter that the memories weren't his own; he had felt them inside, so strongly, as if he were the one who had actually given the order to crash into the Quintesson's vessel. "The other sparks went to the Well of All Sparks before that!"

Jazz pressed his mouthplates in a thin line, lipplates quivering and visor white. "Who was the other mech?" He whispered, rage quieting his tone as he leaned all his weight into his arm over the Seeker's throat.

Starscream gasped again, optics flashing dim and renewing his struggles to push Jazz off to no avail. "Who!" Jazz shouted at him, right into his faceplates.

"Switch…" Starscream breathed out, huskily. "It was Switch." He offlined his optics then, feeling the dying form of Switch in his arms as the two ships plummeted to the planet's surface. He shook his helm, onlining his optics and trying to ignore all of the emotions Pax had tried to stir within him and ignore the memories that weren't his own.

Jazz staggered backwards, finally releasing the Seeker from his hold. Starscream grabbed for his throat, rubbing the sensitive cables and shooting a glare to his trinemates, still standing off to the side and watching. "Thanks for the help," he hissed to them.

Thundercracker met his angry optics impassively. "You're lucky he only wants to talk." He continued to hang back with Skywarp, folding their washrack towels across the room divider.

"Can you do it?" Jazz's voice, tired and low, brought Starscream's focus back to the Saboteur.

"I need supplies."

"Wheeljack has everything. He must have what ya need."

Starscream studied Jazz, his optics cold and expressionless. Thundercracker and Skywarp watched Starscream, their trinemate staring at Jazz and into his optics as if he were a particularly curious specimen to experiment with. Thundercracker took a step towards Starscream, mouthplates set in a firm line.

"Yes." Starscream said quickly, never breaking optic contact with Jazz. "Yes, I can."

Jazz nodded, straightening up. "Lets go get what you need then." He turned to Thundercracker and Skywarp. "You two stay here." His tone was kinder to them then it was to Starscream, the hatred masked a bit better. Thundercracker nodded.

Jazz motioned for Starscream to precede him out of Prime's quarters.

Jazz knew where all of Red Alert's cameras were. He also knew how to avoid every one of them. Red would kill him if he knew, superior officer status be slagged. Red would kill him especially viciously if he knew that Jazz was utilizing his illicit knowledge to sneak Starscream around the Ark with the express intent to pilfer and steal from Wheeljack's lab.

When the two finally made it to the inventor's lab, after a silent but extremely tense walk, Jazz motioned for Starscream to hide off to the side as he overrode the door lock. He quickly stepped in, glancing around for Wheeljack before relaxing minutely when he realized the lab was empty. He pulled the Seeker in after him a moment later. Starscream's mouthplates dropped open as he glanced around the lab. Wheeljack did have everything, much more so than the measly supplies that Starscream was able to use. He stole what he could from the human, but Cybertronian grade equipment wasn't part of Megatron's original plan when they left Cybertron all those millions of years ago.

Jazz took one look at Starscream's shocked and greedy faceplates before barking at him. "Get back to the door! And stay there!"

Starscream started, looking at Jazz in disbelief but backed up to the doorframe. "Who's going to get the supplies I need?" the jet snapped.

Jazz held Starscream's optics. He felt the rage and hatred boil in his lines, his energon racing too fast within him to fuel his thoughts correctly. He couldn't contain the swelling of hatred and pain at the sight of the red Seeker. The images flooded his processor again, images of Starscream and Prowl locked together and gasping against each other, spark to spark. He inhaled sharply, gritting his denta.

"Tell me what you need," he growled.

"Transfer cables with platinum wiring."

Jazz glanced around the messy lab, lifting data pads and pushing aside circuit boards, electric meters, empty beakers and various riff raff. He grasped at a pile of cables, flipping through them searching for one with platinum internals.

"I'm looking right them," Starscream deadpanned, optics on the shelf behind Jazz.

Jazz glared back at the Seeker, then turned and moved to the shelves and baskets Wheeljack had haphazardly arranged, overfull with more of his laboratory junk.

"To the right…" Starscream sneered. Jazz moved right. "Up one shelf." Jazz grabbed the metal basket with several cables wound up in them, seeing the blue wrapped cable with the tell-tale platinum internal wires right away.

He turned back to Starscream "What else?"

"Electrical grounding peripheral and laser cutting torch." Jazz started, frowning at the Seeker before moving back to the central table and shoving through Wheeljack's clutter. He found the peripheral near Wheeljack's Teletraan 1 terminal and the laser torch near Wheeljack's old energon cube, grabbed both and turned back to the doorway.

"What next?"

"Crystal oscillator." Starscream inclined his head at the shelves on the far wall, arching his optic ridges and staring at the oscillator he required. "And make sure the crystal is pure!"

Jazz hurried to the wall Starscream indicated and began shuffling through Wheeljack's supplies. He pushed three baskets aside, growling in frustration before he finally found the oscillators. Rifling through, he found one with a pure crystal quartz and turned back to see Starscream peering down into a beaker of Wheeljack's sitting at the edge of the inventor's main worktable surface, a few steps from the door.

"Get back!" Jazz barked. "Get back to the door!"

Starscream smirked over at Jazz and lazily took a few steps back to the doorframe.

"What else do you need?" Jazz growled, shifting the supplies to his other hand.

"That's everything."

Jazz looked down at the meager supplies in his hands. He wasn't a scientist, wasn't an inventor like Wheeljack and didn't have a mind for experimentation like Skyfire. He wasn't too familiar with all the intricacies of the accumulated stuff in Wheeljack's lab, but even he knew that wasn't a lot of equipment. Most of Wheeljack's or Skyfire's experiments ended up being massive and convoluted events, taking over several bays of the Ark and tripping up the minibots with their wiring spilling into the corridors.

"This is it?"

Starscream tilted his helm. "The rest of what we need is in your chest. Your spark."

Jazz nodded, refusing to break optic contact with Starscream. "Where d' we need t' go?"

Starscream had pulled his first iridium ores from Africa, far away from the prying eyes of Megatron or his trine, but the next ores he took were from several mining complexes scattered across the North American continent. One was just north of a large mass of five lakes, in a wooded, hilly, countryside. The other was not overly far from the Ark.

Starscream and Jazz hurried back to Prime's quarters, again avoiding Red Alert's cameras. Jazz put all the equipment he stole in his subspace, next to his pulse rifle.

When the two slipped back in, Thundercracker and Skywarp were both lying flat on Prime's berth, entirely stretched out and nearly offline in recharge. Their hands were joined between them. Starscream sneered at the sight as both blue and purple Seeker sat up drowsily.

"'Warp, you need to take us to the mine." Jazz didn't waste any time demanding the purple Seeker's assistance. Too much time had already passed.

Skywarp's mouthplates dropped open and he stared at Jazz. "Why can't you fly there with him?" Skywarp roughly jerked his helm towards Starscream.

Jazz shook his head. "The whole Ark is waiting for you to make a break for it. They'll shoot you down if any of you so much as step outside and transform. We need to warp there, undetected."

Skywarp sighed heavily. He was exhausted and had been looking forward to curling up with Thundercracker for recharge. Depending on how long Starscream was going to be gone, he had secretly hoped to get in some interfacing as well. That would be a conquest they could never top; Seekers interfacing in Prime's berth.

Skywarp met Thundercracker's unreadable optics as he stood. Tentatively, he reached out over their bond for his blue mate, trying to read his emotions. Thundercracker felt his intrusion and quirked his lipplates up slightly, sending back a pulse of concerned determination. ::I'll be here when you get back. Be careful. Watch over him.::

Skywarp knew his bondmate didn't mean Starscream.

He nodded back to Thundercracker and stood next to Starscream. "Where are we going?"

"Roughly 700 miles east of here. There's a mining complex. The humans call it Stillwater." Starscream glanced to Jazz. "We'll find more iridium there."

Skywarp plotted the coordinates in his processor and calculated the trajectory. Jazz turned to Thundercracker.

"Ya stay righ' here till we get back."

Thundercracker nodded slowly.

Skywarp glanced between the ridiculously smug faceplates of Starscream and the utterly destroyed, tank wrenching set of Jazz's own before warping the three of them out of the Ark.

* * *

"He'll hate you for this."

Starscream had just finished setting up the transfer cables in a circuit pathway from the chunk of iridium they had carved from the quarry to the crystal oscillator. He laid the ends in front of Jazz, the Saboteur kneeling in front of the small spectacle Starscream had hastily created in the silent, dusky, rocky quarry.

Jazz didn't meet Starscream's optics. He inhaled sharply, letting it out in a ragged breath. "I know. But I don' care. He'll hate me, but at leas' this way he won't be alone."

Starscream's optics narrowed at Jazz and he suddenly stood, too quickly. He snarled down at Jazz before stepping back to stand with Skywarp, fidgeting nervously off to the side.

"Why here?" Skywarp asked. "The ship didn't crash anywhere around here!"

Starscream sighed heavily and turned exasperated optics to his purple trinemate. "Idiot. It doesn't matter where the ship crashed. The spark-entangled iridium was vaporized and spread around the world."

Skywarp frowned. He wasn't a scientist like Starscream. This wasn't his area. He couldn't tell if Starscream was telling the truth, and was actually about to help Jazz, or if he was setting up an elaborate murder of the Autobot in the guise of a scientific experiment. Normally, Skywarp wouldn't care much at all about the death of any Autobot. However, he had seen Jazz's reactions to Prowl, both down south on their beach hideaway and earlier that cycle in the medbay when Starscream had done the unthinkable with Prowl.

Skywarp looked at Jazz, kneeling in the rocky shale with his optics offline, vents surging, and wished he had that strength to confront the mechs he loved. He glanced at Starscream.

"Whenever you're ready, Autobot!" Starscream sneered loudly.

Jazz turned his helm and onlined his optics to stare at the red Seeker. Pure, blinding hatred and utter revulsion raced through his processor, settled into his lines and dropped into his spark. He gasped at the intensity of it, the purity of his hatred. Images of Prowl and Starscream, merging spark to spark crashed in his optics again, superimposed over the sounds of Prowl telling him, back on that beach, that Starscream had saved him. He saw Starscream jacking into Prowl's data port, forcing the programming that had saved Prowl's processor into his mainframe and code.

He hated Starscream, hated him with every alloy of his being. And he had him to thank for saving Prowl's life.

He turned back to the small array set up in front of him. It was shockingly simple, in reality. All he had to do was take the exposed ends of the transfer cables and connect his spark to them. According to the highly technical and CPU-boggling explanation Starscream had given him, the quantum spark energy entangled in the ore would jump across the cables, tune to the electrical frequency of Jazz's spark, thanks to the oscillator, and follow up the circuit to Jazz's own spark. It was going to be easy.

He picked up the two the blue cables, leaning over the ends.

His processor flashed back suddenly to his conversation with Prime earlier that cycle. He lowered his helm, shuddering breaths briefly escaping him. This was one of those actions that Prime had warned him against and had cautioned him against. This wasn't supporting the Autobots. This wasn't helping them in any way. This was _his_ action, _his_ choice, his selfish, illogical choice. It wasn't for them.

He reached for his chest plates, separating them just above the Autobot sigil. His hands traced the sigil briefly, outlining the edges that had defined him for countless vorns. He gasped in pain as his fingers dug into his chest plates and scratched the sigil out of the armor, ripping away the top half of the red glyph.

This wasn't for them.

He breathed in once, jaggedly. His spark chamber split open, spark now exposed to the chill dusk air. He had no idea what he was doing, huddling over Starscream's hastily constructed array. They were escaped from the Ark, again, and he had only two enemy Decepticons to help him. This was easily, clearly, the stupidest thing he had ever done. Prowl would hate him for this, bitterly. He would be so entirely angry with him, if he managed to survive at all. This could all end very quickly; he could be dead very soon.

Or he could become Switch. Face Prowl's anger, and Prime's. Fight at Prowl's side once more.

What did he have to lose? Nothing. He had nothing left in his life without Prowl.

With that thought, he inhaled once more, and jabbed the cables forcefully into his spark.

He didn't expect the excruciating agony to crash through him.

Jazz screamed, his vocalizer scratching and cracking under the force before he blacked out entirely, falling into oblivion.

* * *

Thundercracker had fallen into a light recharge, stretched out on Prime's berth after worrying himself into offlining over Skywarp alone with Starscream and Jazz.

The sudden blast of Skywarp's sheer panic and terror rocketed Thundercracker to full awake and alert status in less than an astrosecond. He reached out, frantic across their bond, still feeling Skywarp's reeling panic and fear.

::'Warp? Warp!::

::It's Jazz, TC.:: There was a tense silence, then more fear. ::We need help.::

Thundercracker didn't waste an astrosecond. He bolted from the berth where he had frozen in fear and raced out of Prime's quarters, tearing down the Ark hallways back to Ratchet's medbay.

He didn't get far.

Prowl, thundering down the hallway and looking ready to murder anyone in front of him, grabbed Thundercracker by the throat as he came upon him, hauling him straight into the air before slamming him down and backwards into the hallway's bulkhead. Thundercracker cried out in pain as his wings slammed into the metal walls.

Wheeljack came running down the hallway, chasing after Prowl. They had both been quietly discussing Prowl's private concerns over Starscream and the Decepticon's ongoing quests for iridium. Wheeljack had been going over the various uses of the ore, from the mundane to the fantastical, when Prowl had doubled over, grabbing at his chest and gasping. He fell to one knee groaning, his optics wide in shock and pain. Wheeljack, having no clue what was going on, tried to help Prowl, tried to kneel down in front of him to see what was wrong.

Prowl utterly ignored Wheeljack, pushed him backwards and bolting to his feet. An angry snarl curled over his faceplates as he pushed out of the medbay and took off down the hallway.

"Where are they?" Prowl shouted at Thundercracker, slamming the blue jet backwards into the bulkhead again. "Where!"

Wheeljack's optics flashed wide. He pinged a private comm to Ratchet and Ironhide. "We've got a problem with the Seekers."

Ratchet and Ironhide were unimpressed.

Thundercracker managed to choke out, "Montana" before Prowl let him go. The blue Seeker slumped in a heap to the floor, gasping for air in heaving drags.

Prowl opened his own comm line. "Skyfire, meet me at the Ark entrance. Now!" He didn't wait for a reply. Prowl grabbed Thundercracker roughly by the wing and hauled him to his feet. The blue Seeker winced, crying out in pain as his elevator was twisted in Prowl's grip. "You will take me to them…" Prowl growled. Thundercracker gasped and nodded.

Even with Skyfire's powerful space thrusters blasting Prowl, Thundercracker and Silverbolt, who had been with Skyfire when Prowl's angry comm came through and refused to let his friend go alone, the trip took an agonizing 25 Earth minutes.

Prowl could barely contain himself. He paced the length of Skyfire's hanger, trying to calm the wildly erratic and frantic pulsing of his spark. His hands shook, trying to control and contain his spiking emotions. His internals were redlining under the pressure and force of his fears as his cooling systems kicked on at high speed. Something was wrong. Something was incredibly wrong. With _Jazz_.

Thundercracker sat glumly on the hanger floor, leaning back against the inside wall of the shuttle with his optics offline. He had told Skyfire everything he knew about where his trinemates were and where they had taken Jazz under the furious optics of Prowl. Silverbolt sat in the front, talking with Skyfire quietly and nervously glancing back to stare at Prowl.

Prowl felt like he was about to jump out of his armor, out of his processor. Nothing felt right anymore. The world had somehow shifted, tilted dangerously and uncertainly. He had no idea what had just happened, what he was racing towards. But whatever it was, Jazz was involved. And Jazz was hurt.

He stopped and glared at the silent blue Seeker. "What are they doing?" he growled out.

Thundercracker, trying desperately to communicate with Skywarp over his bond and only receiving panicked emotional flashes for his efforts, onlined his pained optics and looked up at Prowl. "Jazz begged him. Threatened him. He didn't have a choice." Thundercracker was stretching the truth a bit, but he still was bonded to Starscream, no matter how much he despised the red Seeker at times. He still had to protect him, especially from the raging inferno that was Prowl.

Prowl stepped closer, now looming over Thundercracker. "Begged him to do what?" His voice was low, flat, entirely chilling.

Thundercracker held Prowl's optics. "To bring out Switch's spark."

* * *

Skywarp was frantically trying to help Jazz, the Autobot seizing wildly and uncontrollably on the ground underneath him. Smoke was pouring from Jazz's internals, his mouthplates slack. His ventilations were wild and erratic, coming in great gusts and then dropping to nothing.

Starscream stood off to one side, staring wide-optic'd at the seizing form of Jazz and not moving, not helping. Skywarp glared over at him. "Is it even worth it? To help?" He shouted. "Did you even set up the transfer right?"

Starscream didn't answer. He stared at Jazz's body, his own internals clutching and gasping in response to the Autobot's actions. He had actually correctly set up the transfer process. Jazz had indeed internalized the essence of Switch. And now Starscream was uncomfortably reacting to just that, the last vestiges of Pax within him clawing at his insides and screaming for his love. Starscream shuddered under the intensity. Pax wasn't even inside of him anymore; these were merely sensor echoes, ghosts of the former fighter inside of him. And he still wanted to drop to the Autobot's side and cradle him close.

The thought made him sick.

Starscream turned away, tanks roiling and optics dim. He hard Skywarp curse frantically as he dropped down to his knees, fingers scrabbling in the dusty, dirty ores.

A few breems later, they heard the roar of powerful jet engines, much more powerful than any human model. They glanced above as the powerful searchlights of a very familiar shuttle descend to land at the flat edge of the quarry. Prowl was out of the hanger almost before Skyfire had fully landed, racing down the rocky edge to the base of the pit where Jazz lay, shaking and seizing under the frantic watch of Skywarp. Thundercracker followed him, sliding down the rocky shale towards his trinemates.

Skywarp saw Prowl racing towards him, cold fury and gear stopping worry suffusing his frame. He backed away from Jazz as fast as he could, rushing to Thundercracker the moment the blue Seeker was down in the pit. Starscream still hadn't turned back around.

Prowl dropped to his knees beside Jazz, hands flying over Jazz's smoking, shaking chassis. "Jazz…" he whispered. He saw the scattered remnants of the transfer array of Starscream's knocked aside near Jazz's body. "What did you do?"

Prowl could feel in his spark, in the part of him that was Pax, and yet still him, what Jazz had done. Even without Thundercracker's confirmation, Prowl had felt the surge in his self, the scream inside of him calling out for the energies of Switch as soon as he was, for all intents and purposes, alive again. He had comm'd Prime's quarters on his rush out of the medbay. Not getting a response and then seeing the frantic form of Thundercracker racing towards him had confirmed that Starscream was behind this.

What terrified him though was the concurrent and entirely agonizing feeling in his spark and processor that Jazz was there too, in agony and on the edge. Jazz needed him.

It was the one thing Prowl wanted to spare of him. He wanted to keep Jazz as far from this disaster as possible, to keep him safe, to keep him alive. He couldn't share his love with Jazz, but he could do all the little things he had always done to try to shield Jazz, to keep him alive and to keep him safe in order to show the depth of his feelings. It was the little things that Prowl did, again and again, that he tried to show his feelings in.

It would all be for nothing, absolutely nothing, if Jazz was hurt… or worse. Jazz needed to go on after this, needed to lead the Autobots with Prime. Keeping Jazz alive, safe and away from this entire disaster was the singular focus of the part of his processor that had devoted itself to Jazz over the vorns.

Jazz had once told him, while Prowl was stuck in the limbo of a medically induced stasis and Pax's wrestling for control of his systems and processor, that Jazz couldn't go on without him and that he needed Prowl there with him. That Prowl brightened his world. Prowl knew he couldn't do this, couldn't do any of it, nothing – not fight the Quintessons, not serve the Autobots, not contain Starscream, not fight Megatron, nothing – without Jazz alive. Without Jazz brightening his world.

Jazz continued to seize uncontrollably as Prowl's hands helplessly fluttered over his frame. Prowl turned over his shoulder and shouted at Starscream, still standing off to the side at the edge of the quarry pit. "Did you give him the code for his processor?"

Starscream shook his helm. "You have it all."

Prowl growled. "You don't have a copy?"

"My systems weren't capable of creating a copy at the time."

Prowl turned back to Jazz and grabbed for his interface cable. He didn't have a medical access cable; this would have to do. He flipped open Jazz's access panel, the scorching metal burning his fingers. Prowl plugged his cable roughly into Jazz's port, unsteady hands mixing inelegantly with Jazz's continued seizing. Prowl tried to push in, but pinged off of Jazz's firewalls. He growled in frustration.

Prowl's own systems had been in such havoc, and Starscream had pushed so roughly in that his firewalls had been a joke to the red Seeker when he transferred the programming to his processor. Jazz's were still up, still functioning. Prowl had never needed to access Jazz's code or CPU directly. There was no reason for Prowl to be keyed to his friend's firewalls.

Jazz needed to let him in. It would do too much damage to Jazz if he forced his way in. "Jazz…" he whispered, placing a pleading hand on Jazz's slack and still-seizing faceplates as much as he could. "Let me in… let me in…" He felt his spark pounding, reaching out for what was right in front of him, and entirely worlds away.

Jazz groaned, optics briefly onlining and flashing. He inhaled sharply, again and again, then shakily stretched his arm across the dirt to shake against Prowl's leg in a loose grip.

Prowl felt the firewalls mercifully, beautifully drop. He sighed in relief, and barreled into Jazz's mind.

He was bowled over by the agony and intensity of emotion that was rocketing through Jazz. He groaned at the force of it, gritting his denta and forcing himself to transfer the programming of Starscream's that had seated itself into his code. Jazz arched backwards, helm digging into the rocky dirt, optics surging suddenly white and mouthplates stretched open. His vocalizer cracked, unable to give sound to the scream his frame was shaking with.

Prowl poured the code into Jazz, gasping against the pain that surged back over their hardwired link. Jazz's circuits were arching in agonizing energy, bursting and reverberating with too much surge. Part of that escaped across their link, escaping into Prowl's circuitry. He groaned, growled at the force of it, struggling to remain upright.

Jazz stiffened, going suddenly rigid and ceasing his wild, uncontrollable seizing. Prowl, off-balanced by the sudden change, fell to his hands, catching himself just before he landed on top of his friends body. Jazz exhaled once, then went limp.

Prowl laid his chevron on the super-heated metal of Jazz's chestplate, just above his spark chamber.

* * *

Ratchet was furiously pacing the medbay.

Prowl had utterly ignored Wheeljack as the inventor raced after the imposing form of Prowl just before he jetted off with Skyfire for parts unknown. Ironhide hadn't made it to the Ark entrance in time to stop Prowl, if he could have been stopped.

They both met Ratchet, bellowing in rage in the hallway on their way to the medbay.

It didn't take any of them long to figure out that something was dangerously wrong. Starscream and Skywarp were gone, Thundercracker mysteriously dragged off by Prowl. When they couldn't raise Jazz on the comm, they all shared a silent look of gloomy, worried concern. Too many things had gone frantically wrong this cycle, these orns. Too much was unknown, up in the air. They had no idea what to do.

Ratchet, uncomfortably knowing how these things always seemed to work themselves out, started prepping the medbay for multiple severe trauma casualties. Wheeljack helped him set up silently, First Aid joining them wordlessly a few breems later. Ironhide posted additional sentries at the Ark entrance, as well as sending extra mechs out to augment the roving patrols.

The night cycle was wearing on when they finally received a worried comm from Gears, out on his patrol with Huffer. "Looks like we've got incoming."

Red Alert, refusing to leave his station until Prowl and Jazz were safely back on board and the Seekers were either offline or in the brig, quickly confirmed it was Skyfire, racing back to the Ark with all of his considerable speed. He screamed in for a landing, turning delicately at the last moment and gently, evenly settling down to the Earth.

Ratchet and First Aid were waiting with several gurneys and their emergency mech-med jump kits at the Ark entrance with Ironhide, Bluestreak and Hound settling up on either side with their rifle's charged. They weren't taking any chances.

They were entirely unprepared for the sight of Prowl, covered in Jazz's energon and coolant and carrying the limp body of the Saboteur, descending the ramp from Skyfire's hanger, followed by the exhausted and weary form of Thundercracker, clutching a weak and wide-optic'd Skywarp.

"Where's Starscream?" Ironhide called out as Ratchet and First Aid rushed to Prowl, manhandling the unresponsive form of Jazz from his grip and laying him gently on one of the gurneys.

The red Seeker himself descended from inside Skyfire then, faceplates surprisingly blank and optics dim. He dragged his hand across Skyfire's inner bulkheads slowly as he exited the shuttle.

First Aid was running scans on Jazz's form before the Saboteur was even laid out. "Ratchet…" he breathed, shocked. "His spark…"

Ratchet, crisscrossing the Saboteur's body with his scans and cursing at the overheated damage and ruptured internals, shifted his scans to the spark chamber of his friend. His optics shot up, faceplates shocked and enraged as he stared at Prowl.

Prowl stared back, looking for all he was as if his entire world had just been utterly, completely destroyed. He shifted his gaze back down to the still form of Jazz.

"We need to get him to the medbay. He's lost too much fluid." Ratchet and First Aid began wheeling the gurney down the hallway as Ratchet pinged a private comm to Wheeljack in the medbay, telling him to get out extra fluid packs and spikes.

During the flight back, Jazz's main coolant line had ruptured, spraying Prowl, who had been holding the Saboteur in his arms, with the raging hot liquid. Jazz's systems had been too hot, the pressure too high, for his lines, and they began to rupture under the forces inside. They didn't have any supplies, no medical gear onboard, and so Prowl had done the only thing he could think of. He reached inside Jazz's body, pushing apart transformation seams to grasp at his internal lines, gasping at the heat and the pressure, and gripped his spurting line tightly, trying to control and quench the rupture.

Thundercracker, his arms wrapped around the recharging form of his purple trinemate, had stared at Prowl, optics burning into him until Prowl finally snapped. "What?"

"You did this." Thundercracker whispered. "You did this." The blue Seeker wondered if he, or Skywarp, could have done what Jazz did, could have internalized this other spark to finally be with their recalcitrant trinemate. The difference there was, Starscream had wanted them, as Pax, but they didn't want him as anything other than their trinemate, as Starscream. Prowl had pushed Jazz away, entirely away. Was it any wonder Jazz had resorted to this?

It was a long flight back, watching each ragged ventilation of Jazz's, in and out. Prowl said nothing.

After Jazz had stilled on the quarry floor, Prowl had scooped him up and raced back up the quarry pit sides back to Skyfire. The shuttle had transformed as soon as everyone was out, watching the scene unfold below him with shocked optics. Silverbolt stood next to him, silent and frightened. As soon as Prowl made it up, stumbling only slightly under the shifting rocks and shale with the extra weight of Jazz, Skyfire transformed and lowered his hanger ramp. Prowl quickly climbed inside, laying Jazz gingerly down as the Seekers clambered up after him. Skywarp was trying his hardest not to look at the ragged form of Jazz as he clutched Thundercracker's arm for support and they both slid to the hanger floor. Starscream tucked himself silently into the far back corner of Skyfire's hangar. He reached out softly, tentatively, reaching for the inner walls and armor of Skyfire's alt form, flinching back the first time his hand touched the white metal of the shuttle.

Silverbolt, sitting in the front compartment, felt Skyfire shudder under the touch of Starscream. He whirled around, seeing the red Seeker's hands now firmly pressed against both walls of the corner that he had backed himself into. The Concorde frowned, starting to stand and moving to tear the Seeker away from Skyfire's internals when Skyfire had pinged him over a private comm. "Don't bother, Silverbolt. He's not worth it."

Silverbolt hesitated. "He's not worth it," Skyfire repeated, quieter this time.

Silverbolt sat back down as Skyfire initiated the launch sequence and plotted the course that would take them back to the Ark.

* * *

Jazz's systems stabilized after he received the additional fluids from Ratchet and the med team. His processor slipped into recharge under their ministrations, double spikes of fluids drenching his internals.

More worrisome was the alteration to his spark.

Ratchet cursed as he separated the armor plates on Jazz's chest, revealing the Saboteur's spark chamber. He had, unfortunately, had to repair several of Jazz's internals during the past hundreds of vorns, and had seen Jazz's spark chamber before. It was unremarkable, normal, nothing to distinguish it from the other mechs' spark chambers that he frequently saw through his work. This time though, the metal was scorched and charred. A jagged thermo-burn marred the right side, curling and ugly. It wasn't as damaged or as scarred as Starscream's horrific spark chamber had been, but it was damaged, irreparably so.

The spark inside though, both of them, seemed to be functioning within optimal ranges, if a bit higher and faster than normal. He cleaned the outside of the spark chamber as best as he could, then refastened the armor plates and wiped his hands off, settling back to look at Jazz.

The Saboteur looked horrific. His armor was torn in several places, ugly, ragged gashes covering the side and backplating. His arms were dented, scratched, and burns covered his chest plates, both inside and out. He was covered in dirt from helm to feet.

Wheeljack sighed as his audial fins lit up, and he shared a tired look with Ratchet. Ratchet shook his helm back to his friend, not needing to voice their shared thoughts.

Wheeljack grabbed one of the medbay rags and started rubbing the dirt off of Jazz's dented and scorched chest plates, splashing cool water and solvent across the metal to loosen the stubborn patches. Ratchet, seeing something flash on Jazz's armor, halted his friend's movements. The medic peered closer to the armor, brushing at the dirt until the armor underneath was visible.

Visible, with tell tale bright yellow streaks.

"Fragging Pit-spawned glitch," Ratchet murmured. He stood, then turned to Wheeljack. "Can you stay and finish him up?" Wheeljack nodded.

Ratchet shook his head down at Jazz before turning and walking out of the surgical suite they had brought the Saboteur back into. He idly wondered if he should attach removable nameplates to the door, alternating between 'Jazz' and 'Prowl.' His thoughts were interrupted as walked into the slumping form of Prowl, sitting on the floor of the medbay just outside the surgical suite and leaning backwards against the bulkhead, doorwings low and scrapping against the metal.

Ratchet had a dozen things to say to Prowl and none of them kind. He wanted to tear into the 2IC, scream at him until his vocalizer shorted. He wanted to yell and shout and curse until he blew an O2 line.

Instead, he pushed past Prowl, muttering darkly as he passed, "He's going to be alright."

Ratchet continued on to his office, shutting the door behind him. Finally alone, he pinged a comm to Sunstreaker.

It took a while for the twin to respond, and when it finally came, it was slightly breathless. "Ratchet?"

"Get your aft to my office. Now."

Sunstreaker took his own time responding to Ratchet's summons, which left Ratchet plenty of time to gather the various material he guessed he needed. He was returning with the bottle of yellow paint that Sunstreaker insisted he keep in his supplies when he saw the golden twin gingerly limp into his office.

Ratchet followed, and palmed shut the door. The hiss was overloud in the silence, Sunstreaker refusing to meet Ratchet's gaze.

"Sunny…" Ratchet sighed, coming around to lean against his desk, next to the med supplies he had laid out in anticipation of this.

He looked the twin over, scanning softly and shaking his helm at the damage. Sunstreaker's ventilation regulator was knocked out of alignment, his breaths coming in jerky, uneven gasps, quiet and low. He hip joint was nearly dislocated, scrapping against the socket and catching on his internal lines. There was a matching gash in Sunstreaker's side and backplating to match Jazz's own, twisted and ugly. Dents were scattered across his chestplating, some with black and white paint ground into the flaking yellow chips.

"This has to stop, Sunstreaker," Ratchet finally said.

Sunstreaker looked up then, catching Ratchet's stern optics with his own wide ones.

"Where have you been hiding since this happened?" Ratchet waved his hand over the golden Lambo's battered form.

Sunstreaker looked away. "My quarters," he finally said. "Sideswipe has been helping me."

Ratchet grabbed his clamps and motioned for Sunstreaker to stand. "Up," he grunted while kneeling down in front of the twin.

Sunstreaker grunted in pain as he stood, unbalanced. Ratchet quickly grabbed his yellow hands and guided them to his shoulders, stabilizing the Lambo and letting him lean against his kneeling form as he started working on Sunstreaker's damaged hip joint. The twin's grip was light, delicate, barely touching the medic's armor.

"You can't keep doing this, Sunny. You're going to damage yourself beyond my abilities one of these days." Ratchet pushed aside the internal lines in Sunstreaker's hip, then set about shaving the jagged edge that had shorn off the socket joint. "You need to find a way to get this out other than trying to destroy yourself."

Sunstreaker gasped, both against the pain and at Ratchet's words.

"If you keep bottling up this anger inside of you every time it happens, you're eventually going to explode. You can't always take it out on the Decepticons, or on the rest of us."

Sunstreaker gripped down on Ratchet's shoulder as the medic finished scrapping the shorn edges smooth inside his hip. "That's not what happened," he gritted out.

"You stormed out of here earlier furious. I know you were, Sunny," Ratchet said, staving off the protest Sunstreaker was forming. "I know Jazz was also upset earlier this cycle. I have no doubt you both met and let it all out." Ratchet paused. "This is going to hurt."

He pushed hard on Sunstreaker's joint, resetting it firmly into the hip socket. Sunstreaker gasped again, sagging forward and nearly falling double over the medic.

"Easy there…" Ratchet stood, slowly, gathering the limp form of Sunstreaker in his arms and peeling him off of his armor as he straightened. He leaned forward and deposited the gasping twin back into the chair in front of his desk. Sunstreaker's hands lingered on his shoulders, dragging down his arms briefly before dropping to grip the chair arms.

Ratchet leaned forward, looking into the faceplates of the golden twin. "You can't always fight it out, Sunny. One cycle that will kill you."

Sunstreaker held Ratchet's optics, still shaking slightly from the pain and from the feel of Ratchet's armor under his hands. He was quaking inside, coming undone under the unconditional care that Ratchet had always bestowed upon him. Even Sideswipe in their quarters earlier had shouted at him, yelling at him for his recklessness with Jazz and his violence. He knew Sideswipe was worried and was scared for him. He knew his twin was only trying to help, but it still hurt, hearing Sideswipe's exasperated sighs, so similar to the rest of the Autobots over his actions. 'Why can't you be like Sideswipe? Why can't you be like your twin?' The constant questions and accusations from the Autobots, the sliding glances at when they thought he wasn't looking, or didn't much care if he was. 'Why can't you be different?'

Ratchet never asked Sunstreaker to be different from what he was. He simply patched him up, again and again. And now he was trying to help Sunstreaker, help him as he was. _Not _change him.

"What I want to know," Ratchet continued on, entirely oblivious to Sunstreaker's swirling emotions, "is why you didn't come to me as soon as you got back." He arched his optic ridges and stared down at the golden twin.

Sunstreaker held his gaze until he felt he was going to fly apart. He looked away, down to the floor, vents still cycling off balance.

Ratchet sighed and grabbed Sunstreaker's chin, pulling his gaze back to his own faceplates. Sunstreaker reluctantly flashed his optics back up to Ratchet's own.

"Whatever you do, however fragged you get, you little Pit-spawned glitch, I want you to always, _always_ come back here. Right away." Ratchet paused, letting his words sink in. "Understand?"

Sunstreaker nodded meekly, faceplates burning where he felt Ratchet's hands on his cool metal surface.

Ratchet straightened up, setting his tools back on his desk surface. "All right then, I need to put you offline to fix your ventilator. I'll weld those gashes of yours too. Let's go out there." Ratchet motioned for the twin to precede him out of his office and into the medbay proper.

Sunstreaker limped ahead of the medic to the nearest berth, sagging against it and sliding up until he was sitting on the edge. Ratchet crossed the room with a new set of tools, finer ones designed to work on the smaller bits of his primary systems. Sunstreaker swallowed as the medic stood next to his berth, gears tight in his throat. Ratchet quirked his optic ridges at him questioningly.

Sunstreaker laid down gingerly, still gritting his denta from the pain in his hip. He reached out and grabbed Ratchet's hand as the medic started the procedure to send the golden twin offline.

"I did it," he began, swallowing again. "I did it because I know how Jazz feels about Prowl." He paused, looking into Ratchet's optics. "And I would do the same as Jazz, for the mech I … feel for." He stumbled over the words, not used to expressing his emotions, any emotion, other than rage or anger. He didn't even know if he knew the word for love, knew the depth of it, knew the fractal pattern of its feelings and reverberations against his spark. He only knew that he felt for Ratchet the same powerful, strong way he felt for his twin; a need to protect, a need to shelter, a need to keep close. A need to cherish.

Ratchet frowned down at the golden twin. "Yes, I suppose you would go glitch crazy if something like that happened to Sideswipe."

Sunstreaker dropped his hand from the grip he had on Ratchet's own as he offlined his optics. It hurt, too much, when they didn't love you back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 11

* * *

"I really don't like this human." Rumble shifted his feet again, frustrated at having to wait for the human at another meeting site, always different from the last.

"You don't like _any_ humans," Frenzy countered, lazily flicking a crumpled piece of garbage at his brother in the dingy alleyway they were hiding in.

"Yeah, but I really don't like this one." Rumble kicked the bit of trash Frenzy had flicked his way with an annoyed sigh. "He's late."

"Why don't you 'really' like this human?" Frenzy asked after a breem. The human was late, and they had nothing to do but wait for him to arrive. Waiting was not Frenzy's strong suit, and he enjoyed flicking more pieces of trash at his brother before switching over to his rifle and blasting at the larger garbage strewn about.

"Can't trust him." Rumble frowned, glaring at his brother's antics and his shooting down the alleyway.

"Ha!" Frenzy obliterated a flying and wavering plastic bag caught in the wind, slick with oil and dirt from scratching along the ground. "You're not supposed to trust the humans. We just use 'em." Frenzy turned to his brother, triumphant grin on his face.

Rumble sighed again, then perked up as he heard the tell-tale sound of engines approaching from the far off entrance to the abandoned factory complex. It was an Earth model, he could tell instantly, and not one of his fellow Cybertronians. "He's here," he hissed to his brother.

The car slowly wound its way around the complex, headlights dimming as it parked at the entrance to their alley, secluded behind the factory machinery housing and the warehouse behind it. The driver door opened and a slim human male, frowning furiously and looking around him, stepped out.

"I really do hate him," Rumble mumbled again to Frenzy as his brother smiled wickedly. They both started walking towards the human as Jian, finally convinced he was entirely alone, grabbed a briefcase from the passenger seat and began walking, albeit slower than them, to the middle of the alley.

Jian swallowed as he came face to face with the two robots. These were smaller models, smaller versions of the massive robotic monsters that had invaded his life, and still, they towered above him.

This was madness. It was insanity. It was incredibly stupid, and sure to have the entire world come down upon him. He hoped these robots succeeded, for his own sake. They had assured him that in the new world, born and revealed after they finished the Final War, Jian and the human political factions and countries he represented would have a place within their world. A valuable place. Their human enemies would be obliterated; they could reign over the planet, with a Decepticon alliance.

Megalomaniacs that promised world domination and places in empires only existed in bad American movies. It wasn't real, couldn't exist. Real battles were fought in far-off spits of land, wrestling over countries by-proxy to save the main entities the pain and despair of having the war in their front yard. The Cold War had taught them all that.

Then again, giant space alien robots didn't exist either. Certainly not ones speaking about world domination and promising an empire. Jian had the uncomfortable realization that Megatron was using Earth, the entire planet, as his spit of land, his means to wrest power and control from the Autobots to protect his own home front from the war that ravaged his world. After a lifetime of deciding and intervening in other people's fate, other people's wars, Jian was having his own life interfered with, his own life and planet tossed about and used as a pawn in an interstellar war.

The irony was overwhelming to him.

He wasn't entirely convinced that these robots would hold up their end of the bargain. He had bought himself a perfect escape, one he would be utilizing that evening, fleeing from the giant robots that shadowed his every move. His own government wasn't aware of what was happening. Their new leader was too interested in openness, in democracy, in unifying the world through communication. Jian had felt the sting of their policy shift deeply and had suddenly been on the outs... Until his allies and those who wielded true power and control, those who still held his same views, contacted him again, from a new area inside their government. They weren't entirely over. It was to them that he had run to after Megatron had mercifully, magically let him go, let him live. He had one simple task to do for Megatron, one he had done for 83 other egotistical leaders around the world. It shouldn't be any different. Except it was. It so very much was.

"Seven political factions and countries have accepted your proposal." Jian was proud, ridiculously so, that his voice didn't shake and never quaked. "They are willing to provide you with the weapons you seek."

Rumble and Frenzy grinned up at Jian. "When do we get them?"

"They will be brought to you."

Frenzy raised his rifle as Rumble frowned. "That's not what we agreed!"

Jian raised one hand, not willing to beg for his life, but trying to show his complacency nonetheless. "That is the way it is. Many of your new allies need to avoid the espionage activities of the West. By moving the weapons in parts, by combining and shifting their freight schedules and routes, and by bringing them to you in one final shipment, we have better chances of not being discovered." He eyed the robots in front of him. "You must agree, you are not entirely… inconspicuous."

Rumble snarled, transforming his arm into his classic pile-driver, raising it and preparing to slam it into the human's face. "I knew we couldn't trust you!"

Jian stepped back, raising the briefcase to his chest and gripping it in both hands. "I have the launch and activation codes for each of them. Right here." He tapped the briefcase with his fingers. "You will receive your weapons. I assure you. I have never left a customer unsatisfied."

Frenzy shifted his optics, looking Jian over from the ground up. "When will they arrive?"

"Approximately 10 days. Possibly 12. Transportation times are… variable."

Rumble snarled again, sliding his pile driver back and preparing to unload on the human. Frenzy, surprisingly, stilled his actions.

"I trust you have successfully built your new base?" It was the one thing Jian's supporters, hidden in his government, had not accepted. The robots could not continue to construct their base inside their country. All negotiations were put on hold until they agreed to move. Jian privately thought that his supporters were quite brave, back in Beijing, telling him to inform the robots to pack up and move West into the mountains. He wanted to invite them to a conversation with Megatron and let them see there wasn't exactly a correct way to dictate to a giant space alien robot that he had to move. Promptly.

"Yeah, it's up." Frenzy frowned. Their new base had been a pain in the aft to construct. The mountains played havoc with their communications and with their defenses. The mountainous terrain had been difficult to dig into to construct their underground base. Moving their computer equipment inside had been unspeakably irritating, even Soundwave growing uncharacteristically short over the incident.

"The shipment will be delivered to the border then. You may pick it up there."

Rumble finally lowered his driver, still scowling at Jian. "Give us the briefcase."

Jian hesitated. This was it. There was no going back after this. There was no changing the course of events that would unfold if he were to hand this case over. He hesitated.

And then he passed it across the alleyway, without a word. Who was he to kid? He was a simple human. There was no way he could stand up to giant robots, even if these were the small kind. They'd destroy him and take it anyway.

"I will contact you when it's through."

The two robots were bickering over who got to hold the case, tugging it between them and pushing the other away. They barely paid Jian any attention as he walked back to his car, slid into the drivers seat and buried his head against the steering wheel. He keyed the ignition and quickly gunned the car backwards, sliding over the cracked asphalt and broken glass, not caring one bit as he sped away.

Rumble and Frenzy finally stopped their shoving and arguing as they heard the car start up. They shared a quick look, smiling wide. "Do we need him anymore?"

"Nah."

As one, they tore down the alleyway, skidding to stop as they rounded the corner and getting a clear view of the speeding-away form of Jian's car.

Frenzy raised his rifle, smiled and fired.

* * *

Prowl stayed by Jazz's side all night cycle.

He sat by Jazz's berth, watching the flashing indicators over the berth terminal, watched the intake and output of his ventilations. He never moved, never touched the Saboteur, simply kept a silent vigil over the form of his friend.

Ratchet kicked Prowl out near the start of the morning shift, telling him to get some energon while Ratchet and Wheeljack brought Jazz back online. Prowl nodded once, leaving and returning almost immediately with his cube of energon and taking up post in the main medbay, waiting for Jazz to awaken. The scowl that marred his faceplates grew deeper as Ratchet came closer to onlining Jazz.

Ratchet shut the door behind him as he entered Jazz's surgical suite. He did not envy Jazz the coming confrontation. It almost made him want to tone down his own lecture to Jazz, sure that the Saboteur was about to get a double dose of rage from both him and Prowl. Almost.

Wheeljack was waiting by Jazz's berthside, carefully cleaning, despiking and pressure bandaging Jazz's arms where the spikes had poured their fluid into his own shrieking and dry systems. Ratchet pulled a medcable from the terminal behind Jazz, plugging it into the data access port on Jazz's neck collum and then began gently pinging off the black and white's systems, rousing him slowly from his medical recharge.

Jazz onlined slowly, his optics flickering for several astroseconds before finally onlining fully, if dimly, beneath his visor. He moaned, rolling his helm to the side and looking up at Ratchet, who was scowling down at him fiercely.

"Did it work?" Jazz rasped, vocalizer hoarse from screaming.

Ratchet glared down at Jazz. "Yes, you glitch. It worked. You have successfully destroyed your spark."

Jazz's optics widened as he stared back at Ratchet. "What?"

"You're now carrying another spark inside you. Not just the energy in your code, like Prowl, but an entire spark has merged with yours. I don't know what Starscream did this time, but he outdid himself entirely." Ratchet's scowl clearly indicated he did not think that Starscream's outdoing himself was worth any praise.

Jazz leaned his helm back against the berth, sighing. "It worked…" he offlined his optics, delving into the new spark inside of him. His ventilations hitched as the pressure in his chest increased, both sparks sharing one small chamber.

"Jazz…" Ratchet sighed. "I've never known a mech that survived with two full sparks inside of him."

Jazz onlined his optics and looked back up at Ratchet. "I don' need t' survive for long, Ratch."

Wheeljack's audial fins lit up as he frowned, gripping Jazz's arm tightly. "Jazz…" the inventor trailed off, unsure what to say.

Both medics jumped when the surgical suite door slid open unexpectedly. Prowl, scowl still marring his features, stood in the doorway. "I need to speak with Jazz, Ratchet." His tone was cold, harsh.

Jazz's ventilations increased at seeing Prowl. His spark, both of them intertwined and pulsing as one, pushed out fiercely against his chamber, desperate for the contact of Prowl. He felt his own love, painful as it now was, sliding and rolling against Switch's, bursting and wanting, both reaching out for the Enforcer in front of him.

"He needs to rest, Prowl."

"It's important." Prowl refused to look at Jazz.

Jazz reached up and gripped Ratchet's shoulder. "It's alrigh', Ratch. Just a few breems?"

Ratchet glared down at Jazz, then over at Wheeljack, the inventor looking oddly helpless and wide optic'd. He turned his glare up to a snarl as he stalked over to Prowl. "Only a few breems." His faceplates were right next to Prowl's, angry optics staring into Prowl's own cold ones. Wheeljack padded after Ratchet, casting a quick glance at Prowl as they left the suite. Prowl waited for them to leave, then palmed shut the door and entered a locking code.

Jazz sat up on the berth, leaning back against the terminal display behind him, waiting for Prowl to speak.

Prowl didn't turn to face Jazz, stayed facing the doorway, his doorwings quivering as he whispered one, agonizing word. "_Why_?"

"Ya left me no choice, Prowl."

Prowl turned, staring incredulously at Jazz on the berth. "How can you say that?" he whispered, anguish coloring his tone.

"Ya pushed me away! We've never left each other alone before. I won' leave you alone this time either." Jazz's words had grown heated, his vocalizer harsh. "I'm in this with you now."

Prowl's faceplates cracked, his scowl changing and morphing into a combination of raging agony. "You shouldn't have done this… Did you not hear _anything _that Prime said?"

"I heard every word, Prowl. Did you? We don' operate on our own. We don' leave each other."

"That is not what he meant. Everyone else _needs_ you, Jazz. They are all going to need you after this is over."

"You need me too." Jazz held Prowl's optics, refusing to back down. "I'll go wherever you will go, Prowl, to the Pit and back. I thought ya knew that!" Jazz was shouting now, leaning forward on the berth and shaking with the too-strong emotions coursing through him.

"Why did you tear off your sigil?"

"'Cause what I did wasn' for them." Jazz spoke evenly, looking heavily through his visor and into Prowl's optics.

Prowl sighed and turned away, away from Jazz. His spark was pulsing, racing, beating too fast in his chest. He _wanted_, with every particle, every electron of his being, Jazz. He wanted to rush to him, grab him and hold him close. He wanted to crush the Saboteur to his chest and never, ever let go. He wanted to bury his faceplates in Jazz's neck again, inhaling that smell that was so uniquely Jazz's. He wanted to throw himself into Jazz's arms and never rise again. He gasped against the pain of controlling it, against beating those feelings, those urges, back.

"Our lives have been wound t'gether for too long t' leave it this way. If ya didn' want me doing _whatever_ it took to help ya, t' be by yer side, then we shouldn' have brought our lives so tightly together." Jazz inhaled shakily. "I _swore_ to ya, Prowl, I'd never leave you. _Never_." Jazz's voice was heavy and intense. He stared at Prowl, his helm cocked to the side and visor dim. He had sworn to Prowl, not so long ago in this medbay that he would never leave Prowl's side, finally vocalizing the internal promise he had made to his friend vorns ago. His oath echoed Switch's own unspoken oath to Pax, millions of years and vorns ago, both of them living an undying fidelity to the mechs they loved.

Prowl's helm flew up, optics flashing to Jazz's faceplates. His vocalizer shorted, choking his words and stopping the angry flow of emotion from pouring out. His vents hitched as he tried again. "I have _tried_ to protect you, Jazz. I have _tried_ to keep you safe and _tried_ to keep you out of danger. The _only_ thing I want, when this is all over, is to know that you are alive and that you are moving on." Prowl gripped his hands into fists, forcing them stay by his side. "That's all I ever wanted: you, _alive_. That means being far away from me right now."

"I don' want yer protection! I wan' what we had! I wan' t' be by yer side again!"

"We can't go back, Jazz." Prowl wouldn't meet Jazz's gaze, his soft vocalizer quavering with repressed feeling, anguish coloring the edges.

"All I have ever wanted was t' be there with you, Prowl. I can take your rejection. I've lived without your love for ages. I can go on without it still. But I _cannot_ go on without you."

"This will destroy me, Jazz. I wont survive this. I can feel it inside of me. I can't and I wont drag you with me. I can't be the one to contribute to your death, Jazz. I _can't_." Prowl's voice, starting to hard and angry, ended sounding pleading, begging Jazz to understand.

"It isn' worth it t' me to live without you, Prowl. I've shared too much of my life with you t' go on alone." Jazz paused, trying to catch Prowl's optics. The Enforcer had turned away again, refusing to look at Jazz. "I've always known that I would die next t' ya, Prowl. If this is it…" Jazz swallowed. "Don't do this alone. Don't push me out."

"Do you think I wanted this, Jazz? Seeing you hurt? And knowing I caused it?" Prowl finally turned to face Jazz, his faceplates burning with shame and agony. His spark clawed at his chest, struggling to break free and to race to Jazz, to merge with him, to devour itself in the body and soul of the mech he loved.

"Then stop this, Prowl! Let me in! Let me help ya!" Jazz slid to the edge and pushed himself off his berth, wavering slightly before standing and leaning against it.

Prowl shook his helm, optics wavering. "I wont see you die, Jazz. Not when I can protect you."

Jazz sighed. "We're at war, Prowl. We've been fightin' it for vorns. You've sent me on countless missions into 'Con territory! If I was found, I would've been terminated. It was dangerous. It was deadly. You've done it before. We've both gone on missions we didn' think we'd come back from. Remember the first time we faced Bruticus alone? Or when you rescued me from Vos?"

"This is different." Prowl gripped his hands into fists, trying to steady their wild shaking, trying to calm his raging internals.

"It's only differen' because you're being a stubborn, fraggin' aft!"

Prowl exploded, crossing the suite to stand in front of Jazz and bellowing at the top of his vocalizer, his frame shaking in rage and fear. "I lost you once! I cannot go through that again!" Prowl's hands reached out, reaching to touch Jazz and to hold him. He growled, turning away and dropping his hands forcefully. Even before Jazz had internalized Switch, sending Pax into a whirlwind of frenzy within him, Prowl had felt, keenly felt, the death and loss of Switch at his hands refracted through his love for Jazz. He saw and felt, again and again, the form of Switch in his arms, Jazz's own body superimposed on the pilot's, whispering his love just before he died. Prowl was unable to do _anything_, anything to save him; his own actions had doomed he whom he loved.

Pax's emotions for Switch swirled and merged, crashing into the feelings Prowl had for Jazz. He felt each fear and regret Pax held as keenly as his own and felt them toward Jazz. He shook with his feelings, his love and fear racing in equal measures inside his spark. "I _can't_…"

"It's _my_ choice, Prowl. It's _my_ choice t' be at yer side. Ya can't take it from me." Jazz advanced slowly on Prowl, the Enforcer still facing away from him. "You've decided so much for us already. Ya can't take this. Ya _can't_."

Prowl shivered, feeling Jazz behind him, between his doorwings. He was so close... "What if I don't want you? What if I don't want you at my side?"

Jazz started, steps faltering. There was a long, heavy pause. "You're a horrible liar, Prowl." Jazz exhaled forcefully behind Prowl before speaking once more. "Do you have _any_ idea," Jazz began again, his vocalizer shaking with barely suppressed anger, "how long I've loved you? Do you have _any_ idea?" Jazz inhaled shakily, squeezing his hands into fists so as not to reach out and shake his friend. "For the length of my _entire_ life, I've loved you. I've loved being _with_ you. I've stood by yer side, and you at mine. We've been perfect, _together_. And now, you want to rip that apart. Destroy everythin' we've had."

Prowl turned his helm and stared into Jazz's visor, his faceplates blank and unreadable, his mouthplates set in a firm, thin line. He didn't speak.

Jazz circled Prowl, coming to rest in front of the Enforcer and glaring into his optics. His visor flashed white-hot, overfull of emotion. "How _dare_ you… How dare ya make that choice for us…"

"There is _nothing_ ahead except death, Jazz. The enemy we face… You know now." Prowl whispered, shaking his helm, pleading optics staring at Jazz and begging him to understand with their glinting shine. "Why do you want to put me through your death again? Why can't you stay here? Why can't you _live_? For me?" Prowl's optics, just as his tone, were pleading, hollow, burning into Jazz's faceplates.

"Would you want t' live without me?" Jazz risked it all in a whisper.

Silence, as still and as deep as the black iciness of eternal space descended over the surgical suite. Jazz refused to break his hold on Prowl's optics, his ventilations and energon surging wildly through his frame. He had expected Prowl's anger, would have bathed in his anger, reveled in it, but he didn't not expect this pleading, desperate appeal for him to live. To live on without Prowl. It angered him, knowing that Prowl would so carelessly throw his own life away, determined to carry out a suicidal mission alone against a vastly superior and terrifying enemy, and against the only species that had managed to break Cybertron, against the only beings that dominated and enslaved their world. Even worse, he was doing it without a care to Jazz's own feelings on the 'afterward.' Without thought to the eternal sparkbreak Jazz would be left in, if he did this alone.

"I would rather die by your side next cycle than live for vorns without you." Jazz reached out for Prowl's hand, daring to touch him again as he hadn't since their field in Oklahoma.

It was the touch that finally broke Prowl.

With a gasping sob, he lunged at Jazz, grabbing the Saboteur at the waist and driving him forcefully backwards into the bulkhead. Jazz hit with a loud crash, bouncing back against Prowl's body, the Enforcer swooping down into him and driving their chassis together. He growled, shifting his hands around to Jazz's aft and hefting the Saboteur against the wall, pressing his body as close as he could and rubbing every inch of his frame against Jazz's own.

Jazz moaned, his helm rocketing back and slamming into the bulkhead. He lifted his legs, barely balanced on the tips of his feet anyway, and wrapped them tight around Prowl, dragging the Enforcer even closer. Their frames screeched, scratching and denting against the others as they tried to merge and become one.

"Frag you, Jazz," Prowl whispered up at his friend. Jazz's faceplates were inches away from his, just above his helm.

"Frag you, Prowl," Jazz breathed back just before Prowl reached his helm up and captured Jazz's lipplates with his own, pouring every pent up, agonizing feeling that burned within him, pouring all his love for Jazz into his kiss. His glossa snaked out, brushing against Jazz's lipplates and causing the Saboteur to moan around the kiss. Jazz's optics offlined, his backstruts weakening against the glorious feeling of Prowl devouring his mouthplates. Prowl took advantage of Jazz's suddenly startled state, plunging his glossa deep into Jazz's mouth as he ground harder against the black and white mech.

Jazz's hands gripped Prowl's shoulderjoints, hanging on as Prowl pressed him deeper, harder against the bulkhead. He slid his hands up, cupping the Enforcer's faceplates and deepening their kiss, sliding his own glossa around and against Prowl's. Prowl responded with a growl, deep in his throat, his hands still on Jazz's aft squeezing hard while his thighs pressed tight and upwards against Jazz's spread's legs, trying so hard to bring their bodies together, to merge them into one mech and to be inside of Jazz's armor.

"What the frag is going on?" Ratchet's voice bellowed from the doorway. He had heard the slam of something heavy into the bulkhead following muffled shouts coming from Jazz's suite. Worried, he tried to enter and discovered that Prowl had locked him out. One medical override later, and he did not expect to see what he, in fact, stumbled upon.

"None of that slag in my medbay!" He bellowed again.

Prowl pulled away from Jazz, breathing heavily and shakily. He onlined his optics, resting his chevron against Jazz's chestplates, Jazz's hands still wrapping around his helm. For several astroseconds, no one moved. Prowl wanted to ignore Ratchet entirely, utterly ignore him, shoot him even, offline him just a little bit and continue to move over Jazz, to take him, to love him, to make him feel every single feeling that Prowl had bottled and contained for so many vorns.

"Move!" Ratchet bellowed again, fury still lacing through his vocalizer.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Prowl lowered Jazz, moving his hands from their secure grip on his aft to his hips and waist and helping him slide down from where Prowl had forcefully hefted him. Jazz's unlocked his legs from Prowl's waist, dropping them gracelessly to the floor and standing unsteadily as he gripped Prowl's shoulderjoints for balance.

Neither looked into each other's optics. Jazz turned his visor to Ratchet, fast approaching from the doorway with an angry scowl on his face. "Get out, Prowl." Ratchet's vocalizer burned, his tone cold and harsh. "He's still recovering. I hope you didn't frag him up, for both your sakes."

Prowl flinched, finally taking his hands off of Jazz's waist reluctantly. He turned, not looking at Jazz, and slowly, unsteadily, made his way out of the suite.

* * *

Sunstreaker was slowly coming online, waking after what felt like the best recharge he'd had in orns. He flickered his optics, expecting to see the familiar housing of his bunk.

When he heard Ratchet's bellow, his tone angry and deep, Sunstreaker onlined fully and entirely, sitting up too quickly for his equilibrium chips and slowly-onlining processor to compensate for. He desperately reached for the rifle he always kept near his berth, not noticing for several astroseconds that he was not, in fact, in his own berth.

"Sunstreaker! Take it easy!" Wheeljack was steadying the golden Lambo, hands gripping his shoulders and pulling the rapidly slumping twin back into a sitting position.

Sunstreaker tried to push Wheeljack's hands off his frame, groaning and offlining his optics as he struggled to balance his rapidly firing processor. "Where am I?" he groaned.

"Medbay. Ratchet kept you here over the cycle."

Sunstreaker sighed, finally stopping his protests against Wheeljack's grip, slumping backwards and leaning his hands out behind him to rest against the berth. He onlined his optics in time to see an incredibly flustered and distracted Prowl emerge from the back surgical suite, walking unsteadily and with his optics looking dazed. The Enforcer took several confused steps into the medbay before stopping and glancing behind him, back into the small room from whence he came. He frowned, vents cycling heavily, seemingly stuck in indecision.

Sunstreaker and Wheeljack were frozen, watching their 2IC with wide optics.

Prowl seemed to snap back, snap into his officer mainframe with a deep inhalation and brief offlining of his optics. He straightened, squaring his shoulderjoints before onlining his optics and walking much more steadily across the medbay. Prowl gave a terse nod to Sunstreaker and Wheeljack before palming open the door and stepping through it.

He turned though, glancing back into the medbay and back towards the surgical room before finally moving down the hallway.

Wheeljack turned wide optics to Sunstreaker, audial fins lighting up once, briefly. Sunstreaker met his confused gaze with a small frown. He hadn't onlined before Prowl had forced his way in to speak with Jazz and didn't know what had happened the previous night. "What the slag was that?"

"Jazz came online a little bit ago," Wheeljack said softly, finally moving away from Sunstreaker's berth. "That was the two of them… talking." He flashed his audial fins to Sunstreaker, his optic ridges arched high.

Sunstreaker looked up at the back room in time to see a furious Ratchet emerge from within. Ratchet caught the golden Lambo's optics from across the bay. He sighed heavily, then crossed over to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker looked away quickly. The previous night cycle had unbalanced him, the combination of Ratchet's care and consideration and the physical feel of the medic's armor underneath his hands too much for him to take. Sunstreaker could still feel the cool white metal under his finger pads, smooth and unblemished. His vents hitched as Ratchet came closer, still scowling.

"Are your vents still out of order, Sunstreaker?" Ratchet said gruffly, frowning at Sunstreaker's hitching ventilation.

Sunstreaker shook his head. "No. That was nothing."

Ratchet frowned, reaching to his medcart for a hollow tubule, sealed at one end with a data node. He plugged the node into the med terminal behind Sunstreaker, reaching around the golden twin and brushing his chestplating against the Lambo's arm as he did so.

Sunstreaker offlined his optics briefly, for merely an astrosecond, lipplates parting slightly at the contact. He was weak, so weak after the last cycle and Ratchet's words to him, his unusual tenderness coming out to claw at Sunstreaker's spark. Only Sideswipe, out of all the mechs on board, seemed to care about Sunstreaker's mental health, his mainframe and processor. Sideswipe… and now Ratchet. The thought of Ratchet caring for his well-being above the already unconditional physical care he gave to Sunstreaker was bringing the golden Lambo close to his breaking point. He didn't want to care, didn't want to feel for Ratchet. It was burdensome, cumbersome, uncomfortable.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it. His feelings burned through him, each and every time he saw the white plating of the medic. He saw the others, the happy mechs, friendly and enjoying each other's company, even bonding and loving each other. He had never felt for another mech, felt the care and concern that seemed to be gifted and granted to the others on the Ark, aside from his twin. Sideswipe was the one and only mech he had ever felt for, ever trusted, ever shared himself with. The feelings that had grown in him for Ratchet, ever so slowly in response to Ratchet's own care with him, and his complete acceptance, in his own fragged way, of who Sunstreaker was whispered to him teasingly that perhaps, just perhaps, another mech could care for him just as he was. That he might, selfishly, have some of that shared happiness for himself.

That pause, that brief physical weakness of his was enough, just enough, for Wheeljack to notice, cocking his helm to the side and quirking his optic ridges curiously at Sunstreaker's reaction to the medic's accidental touch.

Sunstreaker onlined his optics to see Wheeljack's confused expression, wiped away as Ratchet straightened up and turned his gruff visage to the golden Lambo again. "Breathe into this." He thrust the tubule to Sunstreaker, watching with a frown as Sunstreaker's shaking hand took it from his grasp. "Did you refuel last night?"

Sunstreaker shook his helm just before he leaned down and exhaled into the tube. The terminal recorded his pressure, pleasantly pinging that his ventilations were satisfactory.

Ratchet still frowned, grabbing the tubule away from Sunstreaker and unplugging it from the terminal. "You're good to go, then. Go refuel."

Sunstreaker watched his back for a moment before sliding off the berth and heading to the door. Wheeljack watched him go in silence, then turned to Ratchet. "Do you need me right now?"

Ratchet's angry grunt was the only answer he received, which Wheeljack chose to interpret his own way. He flashed his audial fins once, then quickly exited the medbay to track down Sunstreaker.

He didn't have to wander very far. The golden Lambo had followed Ratchet's advice, for once, heading to the Rec Room for some energon. "Sunstreaker?" Wheeljack called out hesitantly.

Sunstreaker stopped, half turning in the hallway to glare behind him at Wheeljack. Wheeljack pressed forward, coming to stand in front of the taller Lambo twin. "Are you… are you alright?" Wheeljack suddenly didn't know what to say, didn't know how to approach the famously short-tempered twin.

Sunstreaker continued to glare down at him, his vents slow and even. Wheeljack had the unfortunate thought that he felt he was being sized up for a spare parts dealer, his limbs and systems itemized and assessed for value.

"You didn't see anything," Sunstreaker finally hissed, turning away and heading for the Rec Room doors.

"Sunny, Ratchet's difficult. He's short tempered, he's gruff. He's… hard to get to know." Wheeljack tapered off as Sunstreaker sighed heavily, his hand hovering over the palm pad to slide open the door.

Sunstreaker turned his helm slightly towards Wheeljack, his vocalizer quieter than before and no longer hissing. "Do you think I don't already know that?" He flashed his optics down the hallway to catch Wheeljack's briefly, then palmed open the door and disappeared.

Wheeljack was left alone in the hallway and sighed, his audial fins lighting up for a long astrosecond.

* * *

Ironhide had briefly entertained Red Alert's furious demands to lock the three Seekers in the brig and post five guards outside their cell. However, he knew that Prowl had ordered Red Alert to not put them in the brig, but instead in Prime's quarters. As much as he also wanted to see the three jets rot in the Ark's cells, he told Red Alert to escort them back to Prime's quarters after the three disembarked from Skyfire's hanger. Bluestreak and Hound followed behind.

Red Alert received no orders to not post a guard though, and so he posted three. Bluestreak and Hound stood the first shift with him as he pinged out the schedule to various Ark crewmembers throughout the night cycle. In a pique of revenge, which Red Alert would never admit to, he gave Sideswipe the worst shift along with Cliffjumper.

At the very least, he thought, if the Lambo twin and the minibot got into a fight, the Seekers wouldn't have a restful night.

Skywarp had been too exhausted to care about the harsh escort back to their temporary quarters. The warp had drained his already taxed systems. He had needed a full recharge before warping anywhere again, as well as time to settle the entirety of the new, fresh energon Wheeljack had pumped into his frame and into his tanks. He received neither, Jazz and Starscream's demands of him impossible to ignore. Thundercracker, careful and gentle as ever, helped him limp back before laying him out on Prime's berth. Skywarp reached for his hand, trying to pull him down with him into the berth, but Thundercracker shook his head. Skywarp slipped into recharge anyway, finally, as Thundercracker turned his frowning faceplates to Starscream, silent and still staring into the distance just inside the Prime's doorway.

"Did it have to be that way? Or did you frag it up?" Thundercracker crossed his arms, frowning at Starscream across the room.

Starscream slowly turned his helm to gaze at Thundercracker, the too-far look still in his optics. He gazed at Thundercracker for a moment, his optics unreadable before his lipplates curled in their too-familiar sneer. "I did nothing." He crossed the room to sit gingerly in Prime's chair.

Thundercracker frowned. "Screamer, are you okay?" Slowly, he walked towards his trinemate, the red jet still looking into the distance and not focusing on the steadily approaching form of Thundercracker.

Thundercracker was truly concerned when he stopped in front of Starscream and the red jet showed no reaction. Normally, this close and not in flight, Starscream would be hissing and pushing away from the blue Seeker, frowning and snapping at him to keep his distance. Thundercracker dropped down in front of Starscream, tilting his helm up to his faceplates and reaching out to touch his trinemate's knee.

Starscream whimpered.

Thundercracker's optics widened, flashing crimson in shock and surprise. "Screamer?"

Starscream snapped his helm down to stare at Thundercracker, finally recognizing his trinemate too close to him. With a snarl, he lashed out, pushing hard against Thundercracker's shoulder vents and sending him sprawling backwards across the floor. "Get away from me!"

Thundercracker stared openmouthed at Starscream. Slowly, the pain and anger he had kept in check and kept holding back against his trinemate unlocked itself, boiling and bubbling inside him. "You can't come to us ever, can you?" he hissed. "What the slag is the matter with you? We're your trine! Why can't you come to us?"

Starscream turned away from Thundercracker, staring at the bulkhead and clenching his jaw. "I don't want you." His vocalizer was hard and cold.

Thundercracker stared at Starscream for a moment, conflicting emotions of pain and rage inside of him. Starscream refused to look at him, continuing to stare in his far-off way. Finally, the blue Seeker picked himself up of the floor and crossed to the berth to join Skywarp.

Recharge didn't come quickly for either red or blue jet, the both of them lost in their own thoughts and jumbled emotions. It was entirely unwelcome then when the pounding began on their door at a Primusly-forbidden joor of the morning cycle. Thundercracker moaned, onlining his optics in time to see Starscream shove something hastily inside his subspace and stand from his uncomfortable slump against the bulkhead to confront whomever was disturbing them at the door. Thundercracker sat up as he felt Skywarp stir beside him, also coming online.

Red Alert's angry and paranoid faceplates greeted them from the doorframe, entirely impervious to Starscream's ugly sneer. "Prowl's ordered you three up to the command deck in a joor. If you want any energon, we can go to the Rec Room now."

* * *

Prime sighed tiredly as he glanced around the briefing room. It had been a long few cycles, first with the Army intelligence unit as they dissected Skyfire's report and then the news of Jazz and Prowl's return to the Ark, plus guests, followed incredibly by the miraculous find of Bumblebee and the safe rescue of his team. Prime hadn't had a solid recharge in orns, and none in the past few cycles.

Still, it was worth the lack of rest to see his Autobots back in one piece. Bumblebee was lightly recharging in one of the human's metal folding chairs against the wall, his slightly larger frame not entirely fitting into the chairseat but managing nonetheless. Next to him was LT Whitmore, the leader of the human Special Operations team working in tandem with Bumblebee's own. Whitmore was leaning against the yellow arm of 'Bee, snoring softly.

Prime smiled behind his battle mask, his optics crinkling fondly around the edges. The rescue of Bumblebee's team had taken the entire last cycle. The whole base had pitched in, desperate and despondent after over an orn of not being able to locate their missing team. Finding Skyfire had brightened everyone's mood for a moment, but it fell again when no other mechs or humans were located quickly thereafter. When Bumblebee, Brawn and the two humans had finally emerged from the Decepticon dampening field – and wasn't that a handy piece of technology – their signals had wildly spiked across the Army's Signals Intelligence boards, immediately pinging and alerting the entire base. They had a recovery team of helicopters off the tarmac and speeding to their location, on the border of Uzbekistan and Afghanistan, within breems.

Brawn was flown back immediately, along with the two humans, to report to Prime and their human superiors about their mission. 'Bee insisted on remaining with the ground recovery team, plotting their course back inside the field to rescue the remainder of their team. Brawn had shakily told Prime of Trailbreaker's injuries when the minibot had arrived back on base, exhausted and nearly in stasis. The Army had kindly converted a stash of their fossil fuels to energon for Prime and Tracks during their stay. Prime wasted no time in getting several cubes in front of Brawn before the minibot continued his brief, allowing the mech time to compose himself and recover from his ordeal.

Brawn's report only left Prime with more questions.

It was unnerving, to say the least, to watch Bumblebee and the rescue team disappear beneath the dampening field once more. His armor itched until they reappeared, many joors later, with every human team member, Beachcomber, Windcharger, and a very alive Trailbreaker.

Bumblebee was bursting with happiness and gratitude towards SPC Jackson, their medic. Jackson, thanks to his conversations with Skyfire at the beginning of the mission, had decided in a fit of desperation to treat Trailbreaker _exactly_ like a human car, as opposed to an organic life form. He had cut off Trailbreaker's chestplating, exposing the internals and the components underneath. He attacked the engine with all his "old grease monkey training," tearing out spark plugs and draining the fluids from the combustion chamber and crankcase, keeping the energon from over-pressurizing Trailbreaker's spark. He kept pouring water into the cooling heads, keeping the internals from overheating and increasing the pressure to Trailbreaker's already damaged systems. And, in what was certain to finally offline their CMO, he had patched a ragged slice in one energon line with sand and bubblegum.

Prime was delighted as well, both with Trailbreaker's health and the human medic's ingenuity. Trailbreaker and Jackson, as well as Beachcomber and Windcharger, were put on a specially chartered flight back to the United States, back to the Ark, for proper treatment under Ratchet and the medteam.

Now, they waited, the cycle already grown long and nearly over for them, though just starting for the Ark. They were due to start their strategy brief with the Command Team back on the Ark in less than a joor. Starscream and his trine would be the special guests at this briefing, Starscream's plan on display.

Prime lowered his helm to gaze down at his hands, interwoven and resting against the human's hastily constructed desktop surface he had to work on. It was taller than most humans were, but it served Prime's purposes well.

Bumblebee's pleasant and fortunate reappearance gave Prime hope, possibly futile hope, but hope nonetheless, that their situation wasn't entirely desperate. There was too much uncertainty, too many unknowable variables. He didn't know this land, the shifting and interwoven human political factions and alliances that scattered across this side of the planet. It gave pause to his movements, made him second-guess his actions.

It made him wonder what Megatron was up to this time.

He also thought back to Prowl and the mess they had wound themselves into with the Seeker trine. How much of this was coincidence… and how much of this was a grand scheme, either of Megatron's or of Starscream's design?

He was pleased, very pleased, to have Prowl back on the Ark, as well as Jazz, the both of them functioning again. As Prime, and thanks to the Matrix, he knew more than the other mechs that the legends and fables of old were more than just passing fancy, more than mere legends. If he stretched, if he reached as far back as he could into his Matrix, he could find a spark and find a memory that remembered the fables as truth, as recent history, back in the beginning of their time. If he stretched.

None of the experience of the Matrix helped him here though, stuck in the crossroads of Cybertronian and Earth fates, destinies conjoined around the actions of Megatron and ancient Cybertronian legends come to life and pressing on their future. Where do you turn, when all roads point inward, when the compass needle spins in cycles and the rose wavers? To whom does the leader turn to, when he needs guidance?

Prime sighed again. He looked back to Bumblebee and Whitmore, lounging together and resting entirely at ease. He saw the future in their slump, in the relaxed ease of their partnership.

That, he supposed, was where he would turn. To the future, to the promise of a better future and a better life for everyone, Cybertronian and Human.

* * *

The strategy brief had been rolling along for nearly a joor. Prime, Bumblebee, Whitmore and several other supporting US Army personnel crowded around the vidfeed, displaying their visage for everyone to see. Prowl had called the entire Command Team up, plus the Seekers, after leaving the medbay. Ironhide was remaining in command in name, though Prowl was the de facto commander until he left again. With Ironhide commanding the Autobots, Sideswipe, as the next highest-ranking mech and squad leader, filled Ironhide's slot as Senior Enlisted. Prowl almost wanted to send Sideswipe away; that mech didn't know the meaning of classified no matter how much Prowl tried to explain it to him. Too many times had Sideswipe been briefed on a mission plan or tasking, only to have Bluestreak, Hound, and Mirage all rapidly chatting about it later that evening in the Rec Room. Sideswipe always countered Prowl's frowns with his own exclamations that he was utilizing the knowledge and expertise of his squad, as well as the other squad's members that he respected.

Prowl believed that halfway. However, he did relent slightly. It wasn't as if he didn't tell Jazz more than half his own section's battle plans back in Iacon, even when they weren't in the same group.

Mirage was there as well, still holding Jazz's position as head of SpecOps and 3IC. He seemed to be holding up well, though his optics did look a bit tired at the edges.

The Seekers were all standing uncomfortably at the other end of the room, across the display feed from Prime's group. A tense pall had settled over the trine, neither Thundercracker nor Skywarp speaking or interacting with Starscream. Even with their cold shoulder vents to their trinemate, they still moved fluidly as one unit; when Starscream would shift position, move forward, fall back, his trinemates each accommodated and supported his movements in what Prowl noticed was a perfect and entirely unconscious defensive supporting position.

Ratchet was there, his status as CMO placing him on the Command Team. Prowl had comm'd him half a joor after leaving the medbay, after he had calmed himself and tried to force some semblance of order and control back into his spark and his systems.

He failed at that entirely.

Prowl had asked Ratchet to escort Jazz up to the Command Deck for the brief as well, provided the Saboteur's systems were healthy enough. Ratchet didn't waste any time telling Prowl just what he thought of Prowl's request and his own thoughts on their interlude that joor in Jazz's surgical room. Ratchet was working himself into a decent temper explosion when Prowl had interrupted the tirade with a simple, "Ratchet. I cannot waste time on these matters."

Prowl could feel it when Jazz and Ratchet entered the Command Deck. He could feel the air shift and bend, still. He could feel the shift in the electrons, the new spin to the world, the heaviness that suddenly entered the air with its electrical charge, full of promise. His armor crawled with the presence, the undeniable, indescribable presence of Jazz that had scratched against his sensors for so long. He didn't need to turn to the doorway to know that Jazz was on deck with Ratchet. He felt him, lancing into his spark, as soon as the mech was present.

There was no question, none, in Prowl's mind that Jazz would now be accompanying him. Something had broken inside Prowl during their argument. Something had viciously snapped, cracking apart and shattering under the force of his own raging emotions. Prowl had a suspicion that it was his control that had been destroyed and obliterated. Somewhere between Jazz's angry pleas to stop shutting him out and the touch of Jazz's hand on his armor, Prowl had lost himself, lost everything he had kept contained and hidden for so long, and surrendered to the exquisiteness that was Jazz.

It tore him apart inside, scratching and grating at his spark to see and hear Jazz so pained over him. How had he let it get this way, let things get this out of control? It had been acceptable before, contained and concealed. Both of their feelings were bottled up, not in danger of swinging either of them wildly out of control or of driving them to such extreme measures as to what they both had now done.

Prowl had sighed as the meeting began, Prime taking charge even through the vidfeed. They ran through a quick summation of Bumblebee's mission, their attack and subsequent rescue. Prowl tried, truly tried, to pay attention to the information, but his thoughts kept wandering straight back to Jazz.

Which, he thought bitterly, was entirely why he had tried to keep his feelings under control for so long. His feelings, now loose and running ragged and wild throughout him, were too sharply intense, too pointed to ignore. Everything about him, from his spark to the clawing just inside his armor, cried out for Jazz, so close across the deck and still an eternity away.

It had been acceptable before. It had been entirely contained, normal, predictable. A known variable.

Acceptable… but never anything more. As much as Prowl struggled under the weight and force of these feelings, coursing through him now nearly out of control, he had to admit that his life before, before all of this had changed everything, had been missing something. It wasn't something he thought he had missed then, not something he dwelled on or wondered over. But now, with his feelings suddenly unrestrained, there was an aching, yawning mass, yearning and burning inside of him.

It made him pause. His feelings had always been there, always been strong for Jazz. Before, they had simply been contained, controlled, rationalized. Hidden away. He had never let them out to savor, feeling and knowing the depth and intensity of his love for his friend, his best friend, the other half of his life.

Jazz was right; their lives had been wound inextricably tightly together, too tightly. His past, the experiences that defined him, the memories in his core, his behaviors that stemmed from his adaptive capabilities, all were intertwined and interwoven with Jazz's own actions and behaviors. What he did, who he was, and who had become… was all because of his friendship, his lifetime with Jazz.

How did it happen, he thought to himself, his optics drifting once more back to Prime in a futile effort to refocus his attention back to the meeting. He hated Jazz when they first met, hundreds of vorns ago. He hated him, despised the arrogant mech, despised his music, despised his slippery, shifting, seat-of-his-aft planning and coordination. Now, he relied on Jazz's unorthodox views, his unconventional plans. He thought back to how much he wanted Jazz next to him, speaking with the mechs last cycle and knowing that Jazz would be able to relate so much better. No, arrogant no longer, but Jazz still was as personable and outgoing as he was when they first met.

It was impossible, entirely and utterly impossible to stop his feelings, to try to rebuild his control, carefully constructed over the hundreds of vorns of knowing Jazz and to try to contain this summation of their entire lives, the outgrowth of their friendship and care for each other. It was impossible.

Prowl didn't even try. He capitulated, surrendered himself entirely to the aching need in his self, the burning desire to join with the only other mech who knew him, truly knew him. He felt the presence of Jazz crawl across his armor again, tingling and tracing across his sensor grid.

He had spent his entire life pushing away, always serving the greater good, always serving the Autobots, Prime or his mission. His feelings would have interfered, would have gotten in his way, especially with their intensity.

Now though, here at the end of his life and facing his last mission, the last thing asked of him by the universe, he found his feelings, his love for Jazz intertwined with his purpose. He couldn't do this without Jazz. No matter how much it agonized inside of him, no matter how much he wanted, desperately wanted, Jazz to live, to survive, he also knew selfishly that Jazz was right – he needed Jazz too. It was the most selfish thing he had ever done, demanding the Jazz be with him and to die with him, rather than go on and live with the Autobots.

It hurt, twinged at his insides, pouring a taint of guilt over his love. Hearing Prime speak was sending shudders of shame through his frame, knowing and remembering the speech Prime had made to the both of them, declaring them both irreplaceable to the Autobot army, his own personal feelings carefully concealed underneath.

Prowl knew they would go on. They would be successful. The Autobots would survive, eventually thrive again. Perhaps, if they did this right, there wouldn't be a need for the Autobots to fight anymore and there wouldn't be a need for the war. With the destruction of Megatron, hopefully assisted by Starscream, perhaps the fight would fall. Perhaps they could begin a new chapter of Cybertronian history.

If that was where Prowl was meant to die, helping to usher in both those events, the destruction of Megatron and the destruction of the Quintessons, again, then that was acceptable to Prowl. The variables, the balances of losses and benefits, pain against gain, the promise of the future against the certainty of the past and the present course of inaction, was acceptable to Prowl.

Underneath it all, buried within Prowl's code and just as inextricable from within him as Jazz, Pax surged, singing out with the promise of reuniting with his own love, still in the form of Jazz, and the promise of defending Cybertron once more, this time from dual threats.

Prowl finally snapped his attention back to the meeting when Starscream stepped to the center of the Command Deck, ready to finally deliver on his promise of intelligence and the delivery of his carefully crafted plan to destroy the Quintessons and Megatron.

Starscream glared at the assembled mechs, the Autobots surrounding him, before launching into his speech.

"Megatron is massing his Decepticons somewhere in Central Asia. He's built a new base to launch his attack on your forces."

"We don't have any forces in Central Asia," Ironhide interrupted.

"He's not interested in attacking you," Starscream sneered. "He's targeting your allies. The humans." The words dripped from Starscream's vocalizer with disdain, hatred for the organics evident in every word.

Ironhide frowned, confused.

Starscream continued. "By attacking the humans, your allies, he's certain he'll draw yourselves into he battle as well. Do you deny you would help them?"

Ironhide shifted uncomfortably, glancing across the deck at Prowl, who was scowling at Starscream. It was uncomfortable, having this alliance, this mutual aid exploited and known so clearly to the Decepticons.

"Of course you don't. You will race to their aid as you've done each and every time." Starscream turned away from Ironhide and flicked his optics to Prowl. "This time is different though. He's entering into an alliance with enemy factions of your human alliance. He's acquiring human weapons. Atomic bombs. Neutron bombs. Salted bombs. Your humans call it "nuclear weapons," or Weapons of Mass Destruction." Starscream smirked. "It has a nice ring, don't you agree?"

"Why?" Ironhide's gruff voice once again rang across the deck in confusion. "Why's he messing with human weapons?" The confused faceplates of the Autobots surrounding Starscream were beautiful, poetic to him. He basked in their undivided, hateful attention.

"By utilizing human weaponry from your allies' own enemies, he will confuse and distract their entirely too small brains. Your allies, these humans, are far too quick, too reactive, too ready to jump to action. Especially in that miserable part of this planet."

Sideswipe snorted at the irony of Starscream speaking to caution.

Starscream ignored the red Lambo. He slowly met each Autobot's optics, ringing the room and once again landing on Prowl. "He will use their own weaponry against them. They will react, angry and lashing out at the destruction, at the country or faction that supplied him. That country will then will counteract that reaction, and so forth, on and on." Starscream smiled. "Your human's political divisions and confrontations are CPU bogglingly complex… but entirely too easy to turn against them. The complete and total destruction of the planet is virtually guaranteed. The nuclear weapons will irradiate the planet, destroying all organic life. Shortly afterwards, the Decepticons will be able to bleed the planet's energy in an unlimited source of energon for Cybertron. Megatron will return as a conquering hero, yourselves destroyed along with the humans as the planet falls into chaos and destruction."

Ironhide's mouthplates dropped open, shock evident in his features. He glanced across to Mirage, equally stunned, then over to Prowl, sitting impassively and staring hard at Starscream.

"Why do you want to stop this?" Mirage broke the silence that had descended over the deck. "You've never been fond of this planet. Why would you want to save it?"

"I have no desire to save this disgusting planet!" Starscream lashed out, whirling to glare at Mirage. "I have tried to obliterate it before, tried to convince Megatron to listen to me, to allow me to convert the organic waste polluting this place to useful energon. He has never listened to me!" Starscream shook, rage pounding through him. "He has turned to the humans for this. He has allowed himself to sink to their level and to accept help from an organic." Starscream's optics shown, deep crimson refracting from the depths in a swirling rage. There was nothing, nothing in the universe, worse than organic life. "His actions are _weak_," Starscream hissed, hands clenched in raging fists at his side.

"His weakness is unacceptable. He is betraying the Decepticon cause with these actions. He might succeed, he might return to Cybertron with his energon, as a 'hero.'" Starscream's lipplates curled in disgust. "But he will have betrayed the entire faction. The entire meaning behind our cause." Starscream turned once more, facing Prowl and stepping towards him slowly. "I will not stand for that. I will not see the Decepticons brought to such a level." He held Prowl's optics.

Prime, silent as they all watched and listened to Starscream's explanation, spoke from the vidfeed. "It would appear that we have two life-threatening enemies at the moment."

Starscream turned, smiling wickedly at Prime through the display. "We can obliterate both of them entirely. At the same time." He cocked his helm to the side, smug superiority radiating off of his frame. "I can tell you how."

Prowl stood, slowly walking to Starscream. "How?" He stopped, standing over the Seeker and staring into his optics, vocalizer firm and low.

Starscream pushed past Prowl, continuing to address the mechs on deck. He quirked his lipplates in a sneer at Sideswipe before speaking. "Shockwave is assisting Megatron on Cybertron. He has been building a space freighter to aid Megatron in the final destruction of Earth. It should be complete now."

Starscream flicked his helm to the side and stared at Prowl, still in the center of the deck where he'd addressed Starscream. Prowl was next to him, facing the opposite direction. He slowly turned his helm to hold Starscream's gaze.

"All we need to do is steal the ship from Shockwave and bring it back here. We can destroy the Quintessons before they get here, then destroy Megatron with his tools of his own failed plan." Starscream smiled.

"You are certain the ship is ready?" Prowl's vocalizer hitched, the only betraying sign of his swirling rage.

"It is set to be flight-ready now."

"Your plan is terrible." Ratchet's voice rang out across the Command Deck.

Ratchet stepped away from the bulkhead where he had been leaning next to Jazz. Every mech's helm snapped his way as he walked forward, joining Prowl and Starscream in the center of the deck. "It's terrible," he said again to the red jet as Starscream sneered.

"What makes you say this, Ratchet?" Prowl turned to fully face Ratchet.

"Aside from the sheer impossibility of getting to Cybertron and then stealing a space freighter from underneath Decepticon control, we have no firm idea of just who and what were supposed to attack. The Quintessons? Who here has ever met one? Just how do we plan on fighting them?"

Starscream turned to face Ratchet, standing next to Prowl and staring at the medic. Jazz pushed himself off the bulkhead, moving to stand behind the three of them. "We know who we face, Ratch," Jazz said softly, causing the medic to glare at the three mechs surrounding him.

Prime frowned across the vidfeed. "What haven't I been told?" he called out, dread filling his tone and sinking his spark.

Ratchet held Jazz's optics, dragging them away only halfway through his words to meet Prime's gaze. "Jazz has also internalized spark energy from Pax's crashed ship, with Starscream's aid."

Prime stared silently at Jazz, his optics betraying nothing to the rest of the mechs, though speaking volumes to Jazz. Jazz held his gaze, refusing to back down from his decision and refusing to regret, even in the face of Prime's disappointment. He felt Prowl's optics on him, felt his optics bearing into his armor.

Starscream finally broke the tense silence. "We beat them once. We will do it again."

Ratchet glared at the Seeker. "65 million years of evolution has occurred! Do you have any idea what that entails? Do you have any idea how they've changed? How they've evolved? You want to fight ghosts, shadows of the past! In 65 million years, this planet changed entirely, from roaming with dinosaurs to now dominated by humans. Back then, humans weren't even a blip on the evolutionary chain. They were ground crawlers. They were rodents. Even we, back then, were only simply mechanical forms. We had no transformation capability. We had no higher functions. We've evolved as well. " Ratchet sighed, twisting his helm to glare back at Prowl and Jazz, now standing side by side. "65 million years changes everything."

Jazz inhaled deeply, feeling the optics of the rest of the Command team on the four of them in the center. He could feel their fear, their unease, their uncertainty. Ironhide's optics were wide, frown marring his gruff features. Sideswipe was bracing himself behind Mirage, fists clenching and unclenching, jaw cables twitching under strain. Mirage stared at the four of them impassively, optics darting amongst the group. Skywarp and Thundercracker held back, never interfering, never wavering their gaze from their trinemate.

Prowl closed the distance between himself and Ratchet, staring into the others optics. "They have one weakness, Ratchet. One that doesn't change. One we will exploit."

"And what is that?" Ratchet spat out.

"They're organics," Starscream hissed, barely suppressed rage coiling against the fear he still felt rocketing through him at the thought of facing the Quintessons again. They were the only organics ever to have beaten the Cybertronians. The only organics to have ever posed a threat, to have ever challenged their supremacy of life. Their organic life crawled over their mechanoid forms, each existing in one form and supporting the other. It was the perfect combination of Pit-spawned insanity, Starscream thought. Starscream knew, as long as he'd been alive, that mechanoids were vastly, entirely superior to organic life. Sharing Pax's memories, sharing the experience of being dominated and subjugated by the organic life forms of the Quintessons, had shaken his entire worldview, destroying in an instant his carefully crafted superiority.

"They can be killed." Prowl stared into Ratchet's optics. All organic life was fragile. Their life balanced on a tiny threshold of equilibrium, all cycles and eddies of life within them needing to be operating uniformly and strongly. Upset one balance, upset one process, and the entire life form destabilized. "You can make a weapon."

Ratchet reeled back. "You want me to design a weapon to destroy organic life?"

"You've done it before," Jazz whispered softly behind the medic, visor flashing as Ratchet met his gaze with a scowl.

"That was a long time ago," he grumbled. "Things were different."

"It's different now." Prowl spoke again, redirecting the medic's attention back to the imposing form of the Enforcer, still surrounding and enclosing the medic with Starscream and Jazz.

Ratchet couldn't hold their gaze. "Your plan is still terrible," he said, pushing past Prowl and facing Prime on the vidfeed. "We don't even know if Megatron has these nuclear weapons yet. Or when he'll attack. We don't even know where his base is. Starscream's initial report on that was wrong," Ratchet glared back at the red Seeker.

Across the vidfeed, Whitmore straightened, shifting in his seat and catching Prime's attention. "Actually," the human lieutenant began, meeting Prime's optics before shifting his gaze into the Command Deck. "We received an intelligence report from a source inside Russia yesterday. Certain factions, different military units, have started shifting their weapons stocks and transporting them across the country. It looks like their heading towards their border with China."

"It appears Megatron might not have the weapons yet. That gives us an advantage." Prime's vocalizer was tight with worry.

Whitmore continued, addressing Prime directly. "Sir, if we put a team on the ground in China, we could follow the weapons as they traveled to Megatron's new base. They wont risk air transportation. Not with our air superiority and satellite capability. We're looking at ground transportation, which you guys are certainly in charge of." Whitmore grinned.

Prime nodded slowly. "It would give us the information we need. The location of Megatron's base, as well as the delivery date of these weapons." Prime turned to Starscream. "Do you know the date Megatron wanted to strike?"

Starscream hesitated, briefly. Prowl flashed his optics to Starscream, stepping close to the jet and staring at him threateningly. "Within two orns. That's all I know." He glared back at Prowl, slightly breathless.

Jazz snorted behind them, helm tilting to the side. "That's convenient." Prowl turned to stare at Jazz knowingly. "The Quintessons will be here within two orns as well."

Mirage stepped forward, arms crossed in front of his chestplates. "Starscream, you said we needed to steal the freighter from Shockwave on Cybertron. I assume you have a way to get to Cybertron to do so?"

"The spacebridge controls are still in the Nemesis. It's too unwieldy to move to a new base each time. We keep it there. We simply need to break into the Nemesis and find the location of the new bridge."

Sideswipe snorted. "Simply? I'm sure they've changed the access codes for the base to keep your aft out."

Starscream sneered at the red twin. "I would have thought even you could figure it out. You've certainly felt its effects enough." Starscream gestured to his trine, still silent at the back of the deck. "Skywarp can warp into the Nemesis undetected. Megatron could never stop him."

Prime spoke again from across the vidfeed. "You say this freighter is ready to go?"

Starscream nodded. "Yes. It should be complete now."

Prime stilled for an astrosecond, briefly flashing his optics over each of the mechs on the Command Deck, finally settling on Prowl's.

"Prowl, form a strike group. I want you lead them to Cybertron with Starscream and capture this space freighter. Bring it back here." Prime shifted his optics to Ratchet. "Ratchet, I cannot order you to do this. But if you know a way to help us achieve victory over the Quintessons…" his vocalizer trailed off. Ratchet sighed heavily, faceplates twisting.

Prime held Ratchet's gaze for a moment, then shifted to Mirage. "Mirage, I want Hound and Skyfire here as soon as possible. Hound will go with Bumblebee and Whitmore to track the weapons to Megatron's base. They will need the advanced scanning and sensor peripherals. Jazz, please assist him." Jazz and Mirage both nodded. "Skyfire will be helping the Army Engineers try to learn more about this dampening field of the Decepticons. Tell him to bring whatever he needs."

Prime turned to Ironhide last. "Ironhide, get the rest of the Ark ready to engage Megatron. We will fight them here once Prowl's team returns with the freighter and eliminates the Quintessons."

Prime looked over the Command Deck as the assembled mechs straightened and moved to the center under his gaze, all except the two Seekers hanging in the background and glaring at their trinemate. "I want us all back together in 10 cycles, ready to strike."

A chorus of "yes, Prime" rang out over the deck before Prime cut the vidfeed. The rest of the mechs all shared heavy, worried glances, then moved out off the deck to prep for their assignments.

* * *

It was all over the Ark in a joor.

This time, it wasn't entirely Sideswipe's fault. Jazz pushed Mirage down the hallway after they both left the Command Deck with a simple, "Go to Hound. I'll get the gear." Mirage didn't waste any time, pinging a private comm to his lover and racing to their quarters.

Jazz gathered the gear for Hound and Bumblebee as he relayed Prime's instructions to Skyfire. The scientist was surprised but eager to get back Prime and Bumblebee and assist them again. He was overjoyed to hear about the safe rescue of the rest of the team, and to hear that Trailbreaker, Windcharger, and Beachcomber were on their way back to the Ark safely. He asked for a joor to pack what he thought he'd need, then told Jazz he'd meet Hound and him in front of the Ark.

Ratchet scowled his way back to the medbay, locking himself in his office as soon as he got back and ignoring Wheeljack's questioning and worried look. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to go back to his past and destroy life again. He was a medic, the CMO, sworn to protect and preserve life. All life. He repaired Decepticons in their custody just as readily as he repaired their own forces. He had no doubt he'd try to repair a Quintesson if he ever came across an injured one.

That wasn't what was being asked of him though. Not this time. This time, he was asked to kill, to destroy. To use his life-saving knowledge to end life instead of preserve it.

Ratchet buried his helm in his hands as Wheeljack softly slid open his office door. "Ratch?"

"I'm going with Prowl, Wheeljack," Ratchet said, bringing his helm up to gaze into the suddenly startled optics of his friend. "They're going to Cybertron, on an entirely too flimsy plan of Starscream's, to steal a space ship from Shockwave and then use it to fight the Quintessons. Oh, and Megatron." Ratchet sighed, shaking his helm. Wheeljack's audial fins lit up, staying on, though he said nothing.

"Those two are going to be the death of me. I thought it would be the twins, but no. It's going to be Jazz and Prowl." Ratchet shook his helm again, offlining his optics and leaning back against the bulkhead.

"Why are you going?"

"They need a weapon to destroy the Quintessons. I can make it." At Wheeljack's confused frown, Ratchet slowly continued. "They're organics. I can make a bio-weapon."

Wheeljack's audial fins lit up again, optic ridges rising. "Ratch…" he breathed, vocalizer whistling. "I should go. I'm the inventor."

Ratchet shook his head. "No, 'jack. I'm not going to put you through that." He quirked his lipplates. "Plus, this plan can't handle any more unknown, crazy variables. No offense, but you're a walking disaster."

Wheeljack's' optics crinkled at the edges, a sure sign he was smiling.

"I also can't let them go, not without medical care. I don't know how long they're each going to live like this, with errant sparks inside of them. Their power supply demands, along with the power surges that are sure to come, are going to harm them. I can't let them go without doing something." Ratchet sighed again, lightly banging his helm back against the bulkhead.

"Is there anything I can do?" Wheeljack said softly.

"I'm leaving you and First Aid in charge of the medbay. Trailbreaker, Beachcomber and Windcharger will be back next cycle. They're stable, but need surgery." Ratchet pushed off the bulkhead and moved towards Wheeljack, standing in front of his long-time friend and looking down into his optics. "If I don't make it back –"

Wheeljack shook his helm forcefully, trying to interrupt Ratchet's words.

"Listen to me, 'jack. If I don't make it back, you and First Aid are more than able to take over. You're both capable medics. I'd even get repairs from you two." Ratchet smiled gruffly.

"High praise indeed," Wheeljack snorted, then softened his optics to gaze up at Ratchet. "You have to come back."

Ratchet inhaled once, crinkling his own optics and frowning. "I don't know, Wheeljack. I just don't know."

* * *

Prowl was escorting the Seeker's, along with Red Alert, back to their quarters. Prowl needed a joor to formulate his own battle plans, his own strategies away from Starscream and his sneers before he brought back the red Seeker for his own input. He had nowhere else to put them in the interim than back in Prime's quarters.

Bluestreak turned down the hallway in front of them, stopping as soon as he saw Prowl. He frowned, striding forward to stop directly in front of the Enforcer, hands on his waistplating. "I'm coming with you, Prowl," he declared.

Prowl's optics widened. He looked askance at the gunner, quivering and holding his ground in front of the 2IC. He tried to sidestep the grey mech, tried to brush past him. "We'll discuss this later."

"No." Bluestreak slid sideways, effectively halting Prowl's attempts to escape. "I'm coming with you, Prowl. I heard everything, all about the mission and what you're doing and where you're going. I'm coming with you. I wont let you go alone."

Prowl glared at the gunner, trying to slide back around him on the other side. "Bluestreak, this isn't the time."

"Yes it is. I'm not letting you go into this alone, Prowl. You've done so much for me since you rescued me, you've been my friend and took care of me, you brought me to the Autobots, you brought me onboard the Ark. You did everything you could for me, and now I'm trying to help you." Prowl tried to bodily push past Bluestreak, but the gunner held his ground. "No, Prowl, I wont let you go alone. You're important to me, and I'm not letting you go, not without helping. Don't push me away!"

Prowl stopped suddenly, stopped pushing against Bluestreak's armor, stopped trying to press past him with a scowl. He turned, staring at Bluestreak's determined faceplates and heard Jazz's pleading words echo in his processor.

He couldn't, wouldn't lose another crew. The deaths of his past crew weighed on him heavily. He couldn't drive another crew to their deaths, couldn't bring them to their end. He stared at Bluestreak, so determined to help him, so unconditionally extending his friendship. He couldn't let Bluestreak die. He couldn't.

"Alright, Blue. We'll discuss the mission later." Bluestreak finally pulled back, his smile stretching his faceplates wide.

This time, things would be different.

* * *

Wheeljack raced through the corridors, scanning the open comms to try to find whom he was looking for. He wasn't on shift, wasn't on patrol and wasn't in his quarters. Wheeljack palmed open the Rec Room door just as Bluestreak tore out, a determined set to his faceplates and stalking down the hallway.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were standing at one of the tables, staring after the young gunner with shocked expressions on their faceplates. Sideswipe's was quickly turning into a frown as he moved to follow the gunner down the hallway.

Wheeljack ignored Sideswipe and quickly moved to Sunstreaker, gazing up at the yellow twin earnestly. "Sunstreaker, I've got to talk to you."

Sunstreaker turned intense optics from his brother's form down to Wheeljack. "What is it? Is it Ratchet?" Sunstreaker's presence, his intensity, filled the air around Wheeljack.

"He's going with Prowl. They're leaving next cycle, with Starscream. He said he has to go." Wheeljack sighed, his audial fins lighting then fading. "I thought you should know…" His vocalizer trailed off.

Sunstreaker glanced over Wheeljack's helm to stare at Sideswipe, the red twin having turned away from chasing Bluestreak to stand behind Wheeljack. Sideswipe stared at Sunstreaker, lipplates parted and optics wide. Wheeljack thought he saw a trace of apprehension in the twin's normally cheerfully-plotting faceplates.

Sunstreaker held Sideswipe's gaze, not looking down at Wheeljack as he spoke, levelly and evenly. "Thank you for letting me know, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack glanced between the two twins, a silent battle of wills playing out across their optics and bond. "Just thought you should know. In case you wanted to say something..." He backed away from the twins, still staring into each other's optics, and left the Rec Room.

* * *

Starscream whirled on Red Alert as soon as Prowl left them at Prime's quarters. He palmed open the door and slid out into the hallway, ignoring Red Alert's raised rifle in his faceplates. "I want to go outside," he declared.

"That's not your choice," Red Alert snapped back.

Starscream scowled. "I'm not a prisoner here, according to Prowl. I can go where I please with an escort." He leaned close to Red Alert's helm. "So escort me."

Red Alert scowled, but wouldn't cross Prowl's orders. He had no doubt the Seeker would complain bitterly to Prowl if he didn't let the Seeker outside, for whatever reason he had. "Your trinemates are staying here," he said, palming shut the door and engaging a portable maglock to keep it shuttered.

"Good." Starscream set off down the hallway not waiting for Red Alert, his supposed escort, to lead the way. Red Alert grumbled and followed, training his rifle on the back of the Seeker.

"I'll shoot you if you start your transformation sequence."

Once outside, Starscream immediately distanced himself from Red Alert and stood off to the side but not too far away from the Ark entrance. He stared up at the noon sky, squinting his optics against the hot desert sun.

Red Alert shifted as the Seeker removed something from his subspace, fingering and rolling the palm-sized piece of something in his blue hands. He shifted his rifle, ready to fire on Starscream in an instant. Friendly voices sounded from inside the Ark hallway then. Red Alert turned to see Skyfire and Silverbolt walking out from within, chatting and laughing together amiably. Silverbolt was helping Skyfire carrying several large cases of equipment out of the Ark. Red Alert shifted his optics back to Starscream. The red Seeker had seen Skyfire too, turning to face him fully emerging from the Ark with the silver Concorde. Starscream sneered at Silverbolt, scowling at the Aerialbot before turning his attention back to Skyfire.

Skyfire paused, hesitated when he saw the red frame of Starscream at the edge of the Ark. "What do you want, Starscream?"

"I'm just getting some air. That Ark of yours is claustrophobic. Real flyers can't stand it." He scowled again at Silverbolt. "Is this your lover?" Disgust drenched his words.

Silverbolt frowned, bristling under the words and the tone. He set down his crates and straightened, stepping towards Starscream. Skyfire reached out to stop him, placing a giant hand on his shoulder. "Don't, Silverbolt." Skyfire glanced back at Starscream, holding his optics as he continued. "I told you, he isn't worth it."

Starscream hissed at the words, turning away from the two of them and shoving his item back into his subspace. He glared out over the desert as he heard the two jets talking softly behind him, then heard the footsteps of the Concorde recede back into the Ark.

"So he is your lover?" Starscream didn't turn to look at Skyfire.

"No. He's a friend. A real friend." Skyfire pushed away a tumbleweed from the clearing in front of the Ark, preparing to transform into this shuttle mode. "What are you doing here, Starscream?" he asked again.

Starscream held his gaze, saying nothing. Finally he turned, walking back into the Ark. He missed the flashing turn of Skyfire's helm watching his retreating form, followed by a frowning Red Alert, back into the Ark.

* * *

Prowl sighed heavily, his doorwings sagging, as soon as he was back in his quarters. The cycle had drained him, from staying up at Jazz's berthside and forgoing recharge to their confrontation when Jazz had finally woken. Then the strategy brief, Starscream's intelligence and Prime's plan. His confrontation with Bluestreak. He had spent the remainder of the cycle formulating plans and strategies, trying to perfect their means of success.

He then turned to the uncomfortable task of building his strike team. He was determined, deathly determined, to protect every one of them, to save them as he hadn't been able to before. Ratchet had pinged him shortly after their briefing, informing him of his accompaniment. Bluestreak still insisted on coming, no matter how much Prowl tried to dissuade the gunner; Bluestreak wouldn't budge. The three Seekers were naturally coming with Prowl as well. As was Jazz.

Prowl had finally gotten back with Starscream to work through more plans and more strategies, from breaking into the Nemesis to breaching Shockwave's compound back on Cybertron. He spent the last few joors arguing with Starscream over the best way to get successfully out of Shockwave's lab, the unfortunate end location of the spacebridge back to Cybertron.

He was exhausted, ready to curl up and recharge. Still though, something intangible, a need, a want, hummed in his circuits, traveling across his mainframe and his processor, burying itself just underneath his armor. It crawled against him, refusing to let him calm down, refusing to even let him think about recharge.

Prowl sat down heavily in his desk chair, burying his helm in his hands. He knew what he needed, what his systems, his spark and his processor were calling out for. What everything inside him was screaming for.

He hadn't seen Jazz since the briefing, since they had briefly flashed optics together afterwards. He had been surprised by Jazz's words, his support, his standing up with Starscream to confront Ratchet. It shouldn't have surprised him; Switch knew the enemy as much as he did and had fought side by side with him against the Quintessons all those lifetimes ago. Though his spark, Pax's spark, clawed out for Switch inside of Jazz, Prowl still had to pause and remember that Jazz was in fact now Switch.

And he had done that for Prowl. To be with Prowl.

It burned in him, the shame of knowing he had forced his friend, his love, to act so drastically. He couldn't change the past, couldn't take his friend's actions back. He could change himself now though, change their present. Change their future.

Perhaps, he thought, this is how it is supposed to be. The two lovers fighting together against the universe. With Jazz at his side, he felt as if nothing, _nothing_, could stop them together.

Why had he pushed that away?

Shutting down that train of thought, before it took over his processor once more, Prowl stood shakily from his desk and looked around his quarters. A data pad of Jazz's, something he had forgotten one time he was here, was laying on his tabletop. A small stack of CD's, gifts of Earth music Jazz was "sure" Prowl would enjoy, were shoved in his small bookshelf next to a small tube of paint in Jazz's white and blue shades, kept there when Jazz nicked his armor someplace the Saboteur couldn't reach himself. A polishing cloth, carefully woven for the sensitive glass and electronics embedded in Jazz's visor rested next to them.

Jazz was present here in his life, crashing against him again and again, as entirely and completely as he'd never, ever acknowledged.

Prowl turned to his door, intent on finding Jazz and on finally speaking with him, finally confessing everything and begging his friend's forgiveness. Finally acknowledging his feelings, finally reciprocating, in the fullness of his spark, the love that Jazz had given to him unconditionally for so many vorns.

Just as he turned, his door slid open, keyed open from the hallway. There was only one other mech who knew his entry code.

Jazz stepped inside, meeting Prowl's optics through his visor,his mouthplates set in a firm, determined line as the door slid shut silently behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 12

* * *

For a long moment, neither Jazz nor Prowl moved, each staring into the other's gaze.

Finally, Jazz shifted his weight and tilted his helm, a small, tired smile crossing his lipplates. "Can't believe I'm actually nervous in front of you, after all these vorns…"

Prowl smiled shakily back at Jazz. He had so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to tell Jazz, finally, but the gears stuck in his throat, his vocalizer refused to connect; the words would not come. Instead, he slowly crossed his quarters, stopping just barely in front of Jazz. Prowl reached his white hand out, slightly embarrassed to notice that it was shaking, and gently squeezed Jazz's own black hand. He heard the soft gasp, the quiet intake of breath from his friend before Jazz twisted their fingers together, closing their hands in a tight grip. "Don't push me away again, Prowl…" Jazz whispered.

Prowl shook his head slowly, optics blazing as he gazed into Jazz's visor. "I'm so sorry…" he choked out, static behind his words. "I'm so sorry for pushing you to this…" He offlined his optics as the shame raced through him again, shuddering against his frame.

"Shhhh…" Jazz gently cupped Prowl's faceplates with his other hand, thumb stroking over Prowl's cheekarch. "I don' regret what I did. I toldja I'd always be with ya." Jazz quirked his lipplates up again, smirking gently at the black and white Enforcer. "I meant it… literally."

Prowl sighed and turned his faceplates into Jazz's hand, nuzzling against his touch. "I'm so sorry…" he whispered again, kissing Jazz's palm as he reached up with his free hand to cover Jazz's with his own. "I'm sorry I never told you how I felt. We could have had so much time together…"

Jazz pulled Prowl closer to him, bringing the front of their frames into beautiful contact. He felt Prowl's ventilations hitch at the touch, their sensor nets tingleing against the other. "I don' regret any bit of our life together, Prowl. Nothin'. Don't you do so either."

Prowl offlined his optics briefly at Jazz's words, exhaling shakily. He dropped his hand from covering Jazz's own, sliding it down Jazz's wrist and up his arm slowly, traveling across the Saboteur's shoulderjoint and up his neck. Gently, he caressed the dermal plating of this friend, sliding his hand up to mirror Jazz's own touch on his faceplate, his thumb brushing against Jazz's cheekarch.

Jazz smiled, his brilliant, beautiful smile that Prowl adored, and nuzzled his own cheek into Prowl's touch. He brought their still-joined hands up from beside them, gently kissing each white knuckle.

"I love you, Jazz," Prowl whispered, watching his friend rain gentle kisses onto his fingers, visor still flashing into his gaze. "I love you so much…"

Jazz pulled Prowl's helm down, bringing the Enforcer's chevron flush against his own black helm, still caressing each others faceplates tenderly in a mirror of their agonizing hold on each other in their grassy field in Oklahoma. "Show me." Jazz whispered, tilting his helm and leaning up for a quick, gentle kiss on Prowl's lipplates. "Show me yer love."

Prowl moaned, both at Jazz's words and the quick, gentle kiss. He gently removed his hand from Jazz's tangled grip, sliding it around the other side of Jazz's faceplates as Jazz mirrored his actions. Slowly, optics blazing and staring into Jazz's visor, he leaned down, capturing Jazz's lipplates in a tender, delicate kiss.

Jazz moaned softly in response as Prowl's lipplates moved over his own, gently sucking and nipping across his plating. Prowl's hands continued caressing Jazz's faceplates, continued cupping his helm as his kiss deepened. Prowl gently slipped his glossa out to tease at Jazz's lipplates, softly sliding across briefly before pulling back. Jazz quickly reciprocated, sliding his own glossa out to dance against Prowl's own lipplates. They teased each other for several moments, glossas flicking and brushing over the other's lipplates before finally tangling and sliding together.

Prowl gasped at the feel of Jazz's glossa against his, warm and tender. This was different, so different, from their frenzied kiss of earlier, frantic and desperate for each other's touch in the medbay. This was a slow longing, a gentle burn.

Finally, Jazz pulled back, ventilations deep as he stared into Prowl's optics.

Prowl burned, positively burned, inside for Jazz. The feel of Jazz, pressed so closely to him, smiling and kissing him back, was sending his circuits into an electrical frenzy. He felt the hum inside of him increase, felt his cooling fans click on, felt the arc of current start to build within him. Deep inside his chest, his spark pulsed, yearning still for more of Jazz.

"If we do this, we can't go back," Jazz began breathlessly, holding Prowl's gaze hard. "I want _everythin'_, Prowl. I wont accept anythin' less from you."

Prowl sighed deeply, offlining his optics again before leaning in to gently nip at Jazz's lipplates once more. He onlined his optics and met Jazz's gaze, stepping backwards and collecting both of Jazz's black hands in his own. "You've always had everything of me, Jazz." Prowl brought their hands up, repeating Jazz's motions of kissing each knuckle, each black finger, before gentle tugging the Saboteur deeper into his quarters.

Jazz followed Prowl's lead, visor blazing. Prowl smiled at him softly, a small quirk of his lipplates as he stopped suddenly to draw Jazz close again, gently kissing both cheekarches before dropping lower to nuzzle Jazz's neck cables.

Above him, Jazz tilted his helm to the side and moaned, long and low. He brought his hands around Prowl's larger shoulderjoints, trailing them over the arch of his backplating and gently teasing the top edges of his doorwing joints.

Prowl shuddered under Jazz's touch, gasping against his neck collum. He pulled back, licking at Jazz's chin as he straightened, Jazz's hands bumping back over his shoulderjoints and falling to land on his chestplates.

Jazz began teasing small circles into Prowl's chestplating, fingers delving into headlights and dragging across his bumper. Prowl moaned under the touch, leaning his helm back and bringing his hands to Jazz's hipplating, dragging the Saboteur closer until they were chassis to chassis again, armor plating delicately scraping against each other, inflaming both their sensor nets again.

Jazz leaned down, mischievous glint in to his visor as he looked up to Prowl's panting faceplates, helm still arched back under Jazz's ministrations. He snaked his glossa out, gently ringing Prowl's headlights before trailing his glossa across his chestplating ever so slowly. Teasing, tasting, and licking, he delved his glossa across the armor and into the seams beneath him, feeling Prowl's vents hitch, his frame shaking under the attention. His lips fallowed wantonly, smoldering kisses placed over the wet armor that he had just licked.

Prowl shivered, another deep moan escaping him at the feel of Jazz's glossa. He snapped his helm back down, staring at Jazz's impish grin next to his front bumper.

With a growl, Prowl tightened his grip on Jazz's hipplates, dragging him closer and scrapping their chassis together roughly. He spun, driving Jazz backwards and further into his quarters, crossing the last few steps to his berth. Jazz hit the berth edge at his kneejoints, collapsing downwards with a startled grunt and smiled upwards at Prowl. He reached for more of the Enforcer's armor, petting, touching and rubbing his hands on every part he could feel.

Prowl followed, pushing Jazz backwards across the berth and laying himself above the supine form of the Saboteur, raining kisses and gentle licks, nips and soft bites across his chestplating as Jazz gasped and twitched underneath him. Jazz's hands flew back to Prowl's chestplates, caressing the armor and roving over the form of the Enforcer above him, dipping into the sensitive seams and curves of Prowl.

Prowl balanced himself on one elbow, finally through kissing and licking the chestplates of the Saboteur underneath him all the way up to his helm, smiling at the small gasps and moans that Jazz was still making, still trying to catch his breath under Prowl's oral assault. Jazz turned his helm to the side, lazily smiling at Prowl as his hands trailed down to Prowl's sides, idly tracing the transformation seams underneath his arms. "Yer moans sound so perfect, Prowl."

Prowl smiled gently, then moaned again under the sensitive touches. "No more than yours…" He gasped, burying his head in the side of Jazz's neck collum again, Jazz's fingers digging deeper into his side seam. He slid his glossa out and sucked, twinning around Jazz's cables as he nipped at the neck cables in front of him, causing Jazz to writhe and moan once more.

Jazz's fingers found a particularly sensitive cable, buried inside Prowl's armor and proceeded to stroke it repeatedly, his visor flashing as Prowl reacted. Prowl bucked, gasping under the tender ministrations, offlining his optics briefly as he fell limp against Jazz's frame, helm still buried in Jazz's neck.

Suddenly he growled, surging upwards and knocking Jazz's hands out of his armor, his doorwings twitching high and tight. He reeled back, planting himself firmly on Jazz's hipplates, straddling his waist and griping the Saboteur beneath him with his thighs. Jazz gasped as Prowl brought his hands down to Jazz's own chestplates again, stroking and caressing the black, white and blue-striped armor. He delved his own fingers into the transformation seams at Jazz's sides, fingers twisting against the wires inside Jazz, optics burning down on Jazz's form, beautiful and spread beneath him.

Jazz gasped, bucking underneath Prowl's caresses. He offlined his optics as the current built within him, arching and charging against his circuits, slicing through his frame. Prowl found a particularly sensitive cable at the same time he started grinding his hips downwards into Jazz's own. Jazz threw his helm back, moaning Prowl's name, as Prowl arched harder, grinding downwards again and again, hands digging into Jazz's wiring and cables, stroking, petting and caressing every part of Jazz that he could touch.

Prowl clicked open his interface panel, pulling one hand from deep within Jazz as he unwound his own cable. He traced Jazz's panel with his fingers, the Saboteur moaning underneath his touch before clicking his interface panel open. Prowl gently, slowly, removed Jazz's own cable, clearing the port beneath.

Jazz watched Prowl through his visor, panting. He reached shaking hands to Prowl's cable, slowly unwinding it and pulling the plug towards his own port. Prowl gently teased Jazz's cable uncoiled, bringing the plugs to the edge of his own port and scratching them back and forth over his opening, sending arcs of energy back through the cable and into Jazz, as well as arcing into Prowl's own port. Prowl shivered at the current, at the delicious feel of Jazz's energy teasing into him, delicate and only an electron away from being his.

Jazz moaned, shakily plugging Prowl's interface cable into his port, too close to his edge to do any serious foreplay. He dropped his firewalls and opened his mainframe to Prowl, gasping at the feel of Prowl's own current, his own electrical energy, flowing across their cables and their link. His visor offlined, systems overwhelmed with energy and electrical current. Jazz writhed, bucked up, arched his backstruts into Prowl above, his legs bending and supporting Prowl from behind as the Enforcer reached back to grasp at his ankle joints and dig his fingers into his wheel wells. Jazz moaned, his helm rocking back and forth, hands dragging up Prowl's thighs and squeezing his hipplates.

Prowl surged under the input to his sensors, the reverberations across his mainframe of Jazz's own arching pleasure. Jazz was close, so close, to an overload. He ground Jazz's cable into his port, dropping his own firewalls and completing the circuit with a gasp.

Prowl smiled at the sight of Jazz loosing control underneath him. He ground his hips down harder, bringing their armor plating into closer contact, friction scratching across their sensor nets. His fingers twisted, buried inside Jazz's chestplating and transformation seams again, stroking and caressing the lines and cables he could touch, electrical aches surging off of Jazz's internals and tingling upwards through his frame.

Prowl leaned down low over Jazz, snaking his glossa out and dragging it across Jazz's front grill piece once more, sucking and biting, tasting the Saboteur beneath him. Jazz moaned Prowl's name again, hands flying to Prowl's arms, squeezing as his frame began to tremble underneath the Enforcer. Prowl twisted both of his fingers inside Jazz at once, just as he ground against him again, hipplates and chestplates both driving downwards into Jazz, and swirled his glossa around Jazz's headlight, slowly, dangerously. He felt the Saboteur go rigid beneath him, arching his backstruts into the dual contact and warm wetness of Prowl's mouth on his chassis, as well as the feel of him laid out on his upper frame, their chestplates rubbing together, dermal plating connected, every inch pressed close. His overload surged through him, currents arcing through his circuitry and dancing across his visor in indefinable patterns. "Prowl!" He gasped, moaning as he slowly came down from the electrical high.

Prowl gently extricated his hands from Jazz's transformation seams, smiling tenderly up at Jazz. He slid forward, nuzzling Jazz's neck collum once more, still squeezing Jazz's hips between his thighs. Jazz was panting, trying to drag as much air into his systems as he could, working to cool his heated internals.

Prowl smirked and kissed the black vents of Jazz's helm on either side of his face delicately. At the gentle touch, Jazz onlined his visor, staring up at Prowl with slack and shocked faceplates. "So much better th'n every dream," he whispered, grabbing Prowl's helm in both of his hands and bringing the Enforcer's faceplates down for a fierce kiss, his glossa forcing its way in, parting his lipplates and tasting, feeling, sliding against Prowl's own.

Prowl's engine revved in response, his chest surging down into Jazz's own. Their cables were still connected, sending each other's feelings and sensations back and forth across their link, again and again, the pleasure increasing each time. Jazz gasped into the contact, breaking their kiss. He pushed Prowl upwards, unbalancing him and rolling him off. Prowl sat up, scrambling backwards as Jazz pounced, pushing the Enforcer backwards and down on the berth and smirking wildly from his new position on top of Prowl, straddling his hips in a reverse of their last coupling.

"I've got ya now." Jazz smiled and waggled his optic ridges at Prowl beneath him as Prowl smiled, a chuckle escaping his vocalizer in a short, brief explosion. Jazz reached out for Prowl's hands, pressing down against his own thighs and brought them to the berth next to Prowl's helm, sliding upwards until he was leaning above Prowl on all fours, helm above the Enforcer's own and saucily gazing downwards, smiling teasingly.

He leaned down slowly, visor flashing as he held Prowl's optics, pressing Prowl's hands deeper into the berth and gently kissed Prowl once more, lazily licking and sucking on each of his lipplates slowly before deepening the kiss any further. Prowl responded eagerly, hungrily, trying to arch into the kiss as Jazz held him down.

Jazz pulled back, leaving Prowl panting and wide optic'd below. Jazz dragged his hands down Prowl's arms, sliding them slowly and sensually down the black forearms, across the white shoulder joints. He continued his teasing fondle across Prowl's shoulders, sliding down his chestplates and across his abdominal plating, sending pulses of love and unbridled lust across their connection, smirking downwards and licking his lipplates. Prowl moaned through the entire caress, only moving his hands to grasp at Jazz's waist above when Jazz sat back on his hips. Jazz slid his hands up Prowl's side, delicately tracing the edges of Prowl's transformation seams again, but refusing to delve inside, even as Prowl squirmed underneath his touch.

"Please, Jazz…" Prowl panted. "Please…"

Jazz smiled at the writhing Enforcer beneath him. He met Prowl's optics, surging forward on all fours again to press a hungry kiss to his lipplates. Prowl's arms snaked around Jazz's waist, pulling the Saboteur down and crushing him to his frame.

Jazz broke the kiss and sat up, pulling Prowl with him. He settled back, still gripping Prowl's hips in a kneel. Prowl grabbed him around the waist again, puling Jazz closer and into his lap, the both of them sitting pressed together and rubbing their frames against one another. "Want t' feel you…" Jazz whispered, now taller than Prowl. He cupped Prowl's helm as he leaned down and captured the Enforcer's lipplates again, Prowl's hands stroking his armor.

Jazz reached over Prowl's shoulderjoints, fingers delving into his doorwing joints as he broke the kiss with a soft moan. His fingers busied themselves in the joints, in fondling the seams and connections of the appendages to Prowl's backplating as his glossa traced slow lines down Prowl's neck cables and across his shoulder seams. Prowl moaned, burying his helm in Jazz's shoulder, electrical currents arching and raging through him. His arms wrapped around Jazz, holding him tight as Jazz continued his fondle of Prowl's doorwings.

Jazz traced the white edges of both doorwings, fingers light and gentle. He squeezed down harder, pressing his palm and fingers in deeply as he ran his hands down the shorter edges slowly, arching his hips into Prowl's abdominal plating and grinding back downwards, sucking and licking at neck seams and neck cables, his glossa sliding across Prowl's armor in hungry, wanton abandon.

Prowl shuddered beneath him, gasping into Jazz's shoulder joints. "Jazz…" he breathed, wet breath venting into Jazz's neck collum. The electrical current was spiking, crashing against his circuits. He panted again, feeling Jazz's fingers and Jazz's glossa continuing their assault across his doorwings and shoulderjoints and neck collum. He shivered, panting and arching into the touch, each caress and shudder bringing him into more delicious, glorious contact with the frame of Jazz, straddling his lap and gripping him tight between his white thighs.

"Jazz…" Prowl pulled backwards, disrupting the Saboteur's caresses. He stared up into Jazz's too-bright visor, panting heavily. Prowl slid his hands up Jazz's backplating, fingers crossing from the metal armor to dance across Jazz's windshield, tracing the edges of the cool glass slowly before reaching up to cup Jazz's helm again. "I love you..." he whispered, as he retracted the panel on his chest plating, revealing his spark chamber, his spark pulsing wildly and erratically inside the dark metal sphere.

Jazz stared down at Prowl's spark chamber, shock stretched across his faceplates. He cringed slightly, remembering the only other time he had seen Prowl's spark chamber… when Prowl had merged with Starscream. He offlined his visor briefly, trying to catch his breath and calm the wildly surging pain refracting inside him at the too-strong memory.

"Jazz?" Prowl's tone was questioning, worried. He'd felt the cringe, felt the tenseness enter Jazz's frame, felt the echoes of pain and loss reverberate across their interface link. It wasn't what he had expected, not at all. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Jazz said too quickly, onlining his optics and forcing a smile down to Prowl. "Jus'… Starscream…" He forced out, not able to say anything more. He inhaled once, shakily, staring down into Prowl's spark chamber once more.

"It was horrible," Prowl whispered, caressing Jazz's helm softly. "He's cold. He's vile. He feels nothing. I couldn't get out of him fast enough." He stroked Jazz's helm as he saw the Saboteur swallow, gears rising and falling in his throat, slowly, tightly. "I couldn't shake that chill… I couldn't shake his presence..." Jazz finally looked back at Prowl's faceplates, still breathing heavily, his optics dim. "Get that feeling out of me." Prowl whispered, pleading. "Join with me."

Jazz shook his head silently, pressing his lipplates together. "I can't, Prowl…" He leaned down, trying to soften his rejection with a gentle kiss, though Prowl's lipplates wouldn't respond, twisting into a frown of confusion. "I can't hold it back, Prowl. I can't keep it a simple merge. I'll try t' bond with you."

Prowl sighed, stroking Jazz's helm and faceplates once more. "What makes you think that's not exactly what I want?" Jazz shuddered, gazing into his optics as his mouthplates whispered silent words. "I want everything too, Jazz." Prowl whispered back to him. "_Please_. Bond with me."

Jazz held his gaze for an astrosecond before he leaned down, gently cupping the Enforcer's faceplates in both of his black hands as he tenderly kissed Prowl's lipplates again, licking softly and sucking gently at each one before sliding his glossa out to tenderly tease against Prowl's own. Prowl was so wrapped up in the perfect feeling of Jazz leaning over him, kissing him as if their lives would end if they stopped, that he didn't hear the soft click of Jazz's own chest panel sliding open. He felt his spark finally surge out against the force and feeling of another spark, his and Jazz's inner spark chambers clicking open at the same instant, the both of them still locked in their world-defining kiss.

The pleasure rained down on them in exquisite, lancing fire, shocking through both their sparks and bleeding into the rest of their frame in an instant. They gasped into each other's mouths, faceplates still crushed together, hands still cupping each other's helms. Their sparks surged, beating as one, uniting and swirling in a frenzied, joyous mass of one complete being, their hundred vorns long love finally revealing itself fully to the oher.

The surge of their sparks unification jolted out from their chambers, shocking through their frames and setting a cascade of energy crashing through their circuits, through their systems. It arced and pulsed, cascading again and again against each other, cascading through their spark link and interface cables, reverberating across their frames, their processors, their selves.

Beneath it all, echoing their own limitless pleasure and burning passion, the part of Prowl that was Pax surged into Jazz's spark, merging and uniting with the part of Jazz that was Switch, finally, deliciously reveling in their own love, unspoken and unuttered for millions of years, only revealed previously while locked in a final, desperate kiss.

Jazz pushed against Prowl, rocking his frame into Prowl's body beneath him, igniting their sensor nets and sending another surge of energy through their systems, and across their links. They both gasped, arching against each other and writhing through the energy, the surges of their sparks and their love crashing into each other. Prowl captured Jazz's lipplates, hungrily devouring Jazz's mouth, desperate for Jazz's touch as the both of them clung to the other, their overload surging through them. Electrical currents arched and dove outwards, blinding and shrieking through their frames, their processors, their sparks, from their complete interconnection, a storm of energy and expression breaking out of their unification, crashing over them and through them and finally, beautifully, pulling them under.

* * *

Prowl woke first, knowing even before his onlined his optics that Jazz was next to him, deep in recharge, the both of them knocked offline from their overload. He felt, deep within him, the presence of his bondmate... of Jazz.

Jazz was curled around Prowl, helm resting against his white shoulder joint, one arm and leg casually thrown across Prowl's own body. Prowl had one arm wrapped around Jazz, holding him tightly.

He brought his other hand around, gently sliding one finger down Jazz's plating, down his arm, down his hipplates. This moment, this one moment in Prowl's life, was entirely perfect. He wished he could live in this moment, in the stillness, the quiet perfection, the complete and consuming contentment he was awash in, floating in. He wanted to push off the next cycle, hold it at bay, never let go of this moment or of Jazz in his arms.

Instead, he curled his own body around Jazz, holding him in his arms and cherishing the feelings gently floating through them both across their new bond.

* * *

Ratchet had spent the better part of the night cycle packing and sorting the gear he was trying to bring with him on their ill-conceived mission. He still thought it was a disaster in the making, a poorly planned endeavor, but hoped that Prowl, Jazz and even Starscream would be able to pull order into their journey. The three of them had a plucky determination on their own, as individuals, and each of them stubbornly refused to offline. If there were any mechs that could potentially make this succeed, it would indeed be these three, Ratchet thought sardonically.

A deeper part of him was suspicious that Starscream had an ulterior motive, an entirely separate purpose to wanting to head back to Cybertron. True, if they were to engage the looming Quintessons before they were to get to Earth they would need a space vessel. The Ark wasn't about to fly anywhere, not after 4 million years of becoming one with the planet Earth. The Nemesis wasn't about to fly anywhere either, not after lying on the bottom of the ocean for years. And if the Decepticons were to destroy the planet, irradiate the Earth in a nuclear fallout, there wouldn't be a stable area to construct the end gate for a space bridge back to Cybertron. Shockwave would have to come collect Megatron, and the energon cubes he hoped to create from the dead Earth, on his freighter.

Still, Ratchet never believed Starscream at faceplates. There wasn't a word that came out of his vocalizer that wasn't laced with double meaning, not a single thought behind his actions that didn't fuel his own endeavors. This alliance couldn't be all there was to Starscream's plan.

Ratchet had wound himself so tightly, frustrating himself over puzzling through Starscream's motivations and intentions, his packing, and his struggles to conceptualize a bio-weapon against an organic enemy he'd never encountered before that he entirely missed his evening energon ration. His internal alarm pinged at the middle of the night cycle, just as he was snarling over how to pack additional growth trays into his overstuffed kit bags, reminding him to refuel. He had installed the alarm long ago, given his proclivities for long working hours and self-isolation in the medbay.

Sighing, he trotted off to the Rec Room, leaving his struggles with packing behind for the moment.

The Rec Room was empty at this time in the night cycle, as it should be, but Ratchet had half expected to see Sunstreaker sitting in the corner table. Ratchet had been meaning to have a chat with the golden twin about his recharge habits. Sunstreaker seemed to be in the Rec Room in the middle of the night cycle as often as Ratchet was, nursing his own cube, reading a data pad, or just staring sullenly at the bulkheads, an angry sulk stretched over his faceplates.

Ratchet shook his helm and collapsed onto the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him and trying to ease the stiffness and stress in his joints.

In truth, he was worried about the golden twin. He'd meant what he said last cycle, about Sunstreaker needing to find a new outlet for his anger, his aggression. The twin bottled everything inside, keeping it locked around his spark chamber. He would let it out in brief spurts of violence, sometimes against the minibots, if egged on, but more often against the Decepticons, engaging in ever more violent and daring attacks.

Sideswipe was the cheerful mech of the two brothers, devious, plucky, and always out for a good time. Despite being a pain in the aft and a raging prankster, he was well liked by most of the mechs on the Ark. Since crashing on Earth and coming out of stasis, he also seemed to mature slightly, taking his role as squad leader a bit more seriously. He was still a raging jokester, still out for a laugh, more often than not at everyone else's expense, but he was also a fierce warrior, tending to his squad and leading them quite surprisingly well.

Sunstreaker rarely let his walls down, and never without his twin present. Sideswipe was everything to Sunstreaker, everything. The red twin could ease a tiny smile or a laugh out of Sunstreaker as no other mech could. Sideswipe was the only 'bot Sunstreaker trusted, the only one he unwound with.

Ratchet shook his helm as he finished his energon cube. Sunstreaker wasn't a bad mech. He was a fierce warrior like his brother, loyal to the end, and more observant than most gave him credit for. Ratchet hadn't forgotten Sunstreaker's words when he onlined in the medbay himself, the golden twin recognizing and reciprocating his own care to the mechs in his bay, never letting them online alone.

Ratchet just hoped that Sunstreaker could find an outlet, find another way to open his processor other than slowly destroying himself inside, before he truly did seriously damage himself beyond Ratchet's abilities to repair.

* * *

Sunstreaker headed down the hallways towards the medbay, still shaking himself online and out of recharge. He had discovered the strike team's Primusly forbidden early departure time from Bluestreak, the cheerfully talkative mech overjoyed that Prowl had relented and allowed Bluestreak to accompany him. His brother wasn't as pleased.

Sideswipe had spent the early part of the night cycle speaking with Bluestreak, trying to change his processor, trying to dissuade his decision. Bluestreak wouldn't budge, no matter how much Sideswipe tried to reason with the young gunner. Sunstreaker could feel the worry, feel the aching fear inside Sideswipe at the thought of Bluestreak wrapped up in one of Starscream's plans, far from Earth on Cybertron, and Sideswipe unable to defend or protect his friend.

Bluestreak listened to all of Sideswipe's reasoning, all of his attempts to keep him from going, calmly reiterating his dedication and devotion to Prowl, despite Sideswipe's growing frustrations. Sideswipe had finally given up, huffing out of Bluestreak's quarters and returning to his and Sunstreaker's own, anger and sadness warring within him.

Unfortunately, he stumbled in just as Sunstreaker was finishing his own packing, calmly sorting and arranging the multitude of munitions for his own journey. "You're going too, aren't you?" Sideswipe had said, shoulderjoints sagging, defeat in every inch of his frame. "I can't handle it if I lose you both."

Sideswipe had known as soon as Wheeljack had torn into the Rec Room that Sunstreaker wouldn't leave Ratchet alone on Prowl's mission. He had known, padding back to gaze at the steely determined set to his brother's faceplates listening to Wheeljack that Sunstreaker was as good as already gone, already on Cybertron with Ratchet.

Sideswipe hadn't known exactly when Sunstreaker's feelings had first started, first grown within his brother for their medic. He didn't feel one way or the other for the medic, truthfully. Ratchet was a grumpy mech, irritable and cantankerous with most bots, and hideously coarse and gruff in the medbay. Perhaps he wasn't the best mech to comment on his bedside manner though, since Ratchet especially hated putting Sideswipe back together after his numerous accidents, incidents and war wounds. As far as he knew, he was the only mech to have actually made Ratchet blow an O2 line.

Nonetheless, regardless of Sideswipe's own feelings towards the medic, Sunstreaker had gone and fallen for the mech, and fallen hard. He was surprised, very much so, when he had first felt the tingles of concern across their bond from Sunstreaker towards Ratchet. He didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge his brother's feelings or confront him about it, merely waited, holding back to see what would come of Sunstreaker's attachment.

His brother's concern morphed into on odd sort of caretaking, which morphed into a deep and unyielding surge of protective feelings, not unlike the feelings he knew that Sunstreaker had towards him. Somehow, despite Sunstreaker not knowing, not experiencing the feeling of love, Ratchet had managed to capture their golden warrior's spark entirely.

They never spoke about it, never gave voice to the knowledge shared between them thanks to their bond, though Sunstreaker felt the curious wonder and confused irritation from Sideswipe whenever his feelings for Ratchet would flare – especially if it were during a particularly vicious dressing down in the medbay from the CMO himself.

Sideswipe had had Sunstreaker all to himself for their entire lives. And even though Sideswipe himself had had lovers, had flings, had dalliances with other mechs, he still reserved the depth of his spark for Sunstreaker, sharing the other half of himself, the other half of his spark, with his brother. Knowing that Sunstreaker now cared for another as deeply as he cared for Sideswipe had stung at first, especially knowing who it was.

Still, despite his occasionally bitter feelings, his small and petty inner self that every so often clamored to remind Sunstreaker that they were brothers, sharing a spark, supposed to be together forever, he knew that Sunstreaker truly cared, truly derived a small measure of happiness from his feelings towards the medic. Sunstreaker hadn't experienced much happiness, much joy in his life, not like Sideswipe had sought out in his. He wouldn't, couldn't take that happiness from his brother. He loved him entirely too much for that.

Sunstreaker wouldn't meet his brother's optics when Sideswipe came in, merely continued packing the cartridges to his rockets one by one. Sideswipe watched him wordlessly, feeling the roiling frustration, mixed with worry and fear over their mission and sadness directed towards Sideswipe across their bond.

He had grabbed Sunstreaker's flash grenades, bringing them to his brother and holding them out. Sunstreaker finally looked up then, gazing deeply into his brother's faceplates. "Here," Sideswipe said, static underlying his words. "You should take these too."

Sunstreaker had pulled Sideswipe into a frame-crushing hug, surprising his brother entirely and unbalancing his already strung out processor. Slowly, Sideswipe raised his arms around his brother's shoulders, laying his helm down on the golden shoulder plating and sighing deeply. "Just make sure you come back, you slagger. And bring him with you."

Sunstreaker hadn't known whether Sideswipe meant Ratchet or Bluestreak, and flashed a curious, slightly teasing feeling back across their bond. Sideswipe pulled back, a small, short laugh escaping his vocalizer and finally breaking his sullen mood. "Both," he said with a small smile, as Sunstreaker took the flash grenades from his brother's hands and sealed the now-filled kit bag.

Sunstreaker shook his helm again, dragging his processor back to the present as he palmed open the medbay doors.

Ratchet glared towards the opening doors, wondering who could possibly be up at this time of the cycle. He was finally finished packing his gear, not entirely certain he had brought enough, but entirely out of room. This would have to do.

"What are you doing here, Sunstreaker?" he growled, struggling to close the kit bag. Sunstreaker walked towards him silently, shoving the edges together and helping Ratchet seal the bag before picking it and its partner up.

"I'll carry these out for you."

Ratchet stared at Sunstreaker for a moment, frowning at the golden twin in irritated confusion. Sunstreaker held his gaze, then turned and began to head out of the medbay, still carrying both of Ratchet's kit bags.

Ratchet sighed, and followed.

Sunstreaker ran into Bluestreak, also shaking recharge away and carrying his own kit bag of extra mods and spare parts to his rifle on the way to the Ark entrance. Sunstreaker motioned once for Bluestreak to hand over his kit bag, which Bluestreak readily accepted. He was still trying to attach his shoulder-mounted rockets, still catching the final seals down.

Sunstreaker hefted the bags in his hands, his own safely and securely stored out of sight in his subspace.

Prowl and Jazz were waiting at the entrance with the three Seekers and Red Alert. Red Alert had never, not once, let Starscream out of his optic sensors. Sunstreaker didn't know if Red Alert would be pleased that Starscream was gone or more paranoid than ever now that Starscream was out in the world again and out of Red Alert's sight. It had to have been extremely satisfying to Red Alert to have Starscream under his entire control. If the scowl on Red Alert's faceplates was anything to go by, Sunstreaker guessed he was correct.

Prowl acknowledged Bluestreak and Ratchet's arrival with a nod before turning to Sunstreaker with a frown. "What are you doing here, Sunstreaker?"

Sunstreaker abruptly transformed, drawing both Ratchet and Bluestreak's kit bags into his interior and sealing his doors. "I am coming with you," he said, vocalizer echoing out of his alt form.

Prowl frowned down harder at Sunstreaker as Jazz's optic ridges rose. Bluestreak's mouthplates dropped open. Ratchet merely shook his helm, sighing deeply and frowning at the golden Lamborghini.

"We have enough mechs, Sunstreaker. We don't need any more." Prowl's voice was hard, not yielding to Sunstreaker's angry rev of his engine.

"You need a frontliner. You have two gunners and a Saboteur. All ranged fighters. And Ratchet, who is not a fighter at all. You need someone who can take on the Decepticons one on one." Sunstreaker paused, revving his engine hard again. "And I have all the gear."

"Aren't you forgetting us?" Starscream snapped at Sunstreaker's alt mode, arms crossed over his chestplating, signature null rays sticking out from his arm mounts again. Ratchet had reattached, much to Red Alert's chagrin and extreme displeasure, the trine's arm rays the previous cycle.

"I only count those I can trust." Sunstreaker gunned his engine dangerously as Starscream scowled down at his form again.

Jazz chuckled softly as Prowl glared at Sunstreaker's Lambo form. He didn't think of Sunstreaker as a devious mech, hadn't expected the golden twin to pull an action like this. He turned to Prowl, sensing his bondmate's frustration and worry across their bond.

He knew exactly was Prowl was thinking, what he was worrying over. Prowl agonized over the deaths of his crew, of Pax's crew, during their final flight. He had cared, deeply cared, about all of them, more than he had ever let them all know. He carried the weight of their deaths in his spark, not allowing himself any measure of forgiveness. This mission, this strike team, was entirely too close to their last flight for Prowl. He saw the faceplates of his crew reflecting off the young ones of Bluestreak, of Ratchet's older, cranky ones, and now, Sunstreaker's as well. It worried the Enforcer, ate away at him deep inside, the anguish of wondering if he was leading another crew of friends to their death.

::We can save 'em this time:: Jazz sent across their new bond. He was still reveling in their connection, in the exquisiteness that was Prowl within him, in their bond. He had woken wrapped in Prowl's arms, Prowl's hands stroking across his windshield, and they had both engaged in more bonding, more interfacing before they reluctantly rose from their berth, needing to face reality and their mission once more. ::It c'n be different this time:: Jazz continued. ::We wont lose 'em again.::

Prowl sighed deeply, feeling Jazz's presence and words inside of him. He hoped, desperately hoped, that Jazz was right. They had to save them this time. He still glared down at Sunstreaker, revving his engine and refusing to back down. "Fine."

Red Alert glared at Starscream, and Sunstreaker for good measure, then crossed to Prowl's side. "Good luck, Prowl. Please know that I would be volunteering to join you as well, though I need to remain here and support the attack on Megatron's forces."

Prowl smiled down at Red Alert fondly. He had always worked well with the paranoid Security Director, though occasionally wished Red Alert wouldn't get so entirely wrapped up in his duties. Still, Red Alert was an excellent officer, a loyal friend, and a strong, capable fighter. "Thank you, Red."

Jazz smiled at Prowl's side. "We'll be back in ten cycles t' help ya kick Megatron's aft."

Starscream sighed heavily, off to the side. "If you don't mind, we have a space bridge to find." He transformed, flying upwards and hovering above the group, his trinemates quickly following suit and forming their wing formation.

Prowl glared upwards, along with Red Alert. "Let's move out." He transformed, Jazz following immediately after him, Bluestreak and Ratchet transforming a moment later. Prowl drove off first, Ratchet, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker following, the golden twin revving his engine the entire time, finally gunning it after Bluestreak in a squeal of rubber and a spray of dirt. Jazz chuckled, flashing his headlights after Sunstreaker and brought up the rear, flashing his taillights at Red Alert, watching them depart from the Ark entrance.

Unseen above, another mech crept out from around the volcano, quietly igniting his engine and taking off in the dark, pre-dawn morning, chasing after the steadily speeding away strike team.

* * *

The trip to the coast was brief and generally silent. Bluestreak occasionally babbled, cheerfully talking at the mechs around him and commenting to Sunstreaker that he hadn't expected Sunstreaker to accompany them at all, and certainly not in the way that he did. Ratchet was silent the whole time, his general air of displeased irritability carrying back off his vehicle mode. Jazz interjected once with a teasing comment about Sunstreaker's devious hijacking of the other's gear.

Prowl was focused nearly entirely on the Seekers above them, sensors stretched out to trace at the edges of their flight path and determined to keep them all in range. The rest of his processor stretched out his various tactical scenarios for getting the team safely and successfully into Shockwave's compound. Much as he wanted to push off the morning, to live in the past night cycle, the time had now come to act.

The team slowed near the edge of a ragged cliff face, hearing the angry, crashing waves beneath them, headlights cutting through the dark sky and fading away to nothing. They transformed as a unit, the Seekers trailing downward and transforming in the air to land softly next to them.

"The Nemesis is 60 miles out," Starscream said to Prowl, moving to stand next to the Enforcer and gesturing out to sea.

Prowl nodded slowly. "We knew it was out here, off this coast. I didn't realize it was so far down though."

Starscream nodded, frowning. "It's quite deep, actually." He hated being under so much water, hated being so far beneath the surface. It was the exact opposite of the freedom of the skies, or of space. It was crushing, the pressure of being trapped down so low in the plunging depths. He scowled, frowning at the turn of his thoughts and sharply turned to Skywarp.

"Lets get in there. Are you ready, 'Warp?"

Skywarp nodded, crossing to stand next to Starscream. Jazz moved next to Prowl as well, facing the two Seekers. "We're both goin'," he said, as Skywarp plotted his jump coordinates in his processor.

Starscream sneered at the Saboteur. "We don't have time to sparkling-sit you inside."

"That's how it is," Jazz calmly replied, icily determined set to his words. There was no way, none at all, that they were letting the two Seekers loose back on the Nemesis without Prowl and Jazz there to shadow their moves. The Seekers had done nothing to earn their trust. Their alliance was a temporary one, born out of the need to share resources and intelligence. Starscream had already offered up his information, already used his trump card in their dealings. To succeed, as he had explained their plan, he now had to rely on, and to submit to, the Autobots.

It was an uncomfortable position for Starscream to be in.

Starscream glared back at Jazz for a moment before turning back to Skywarp. "Well?" He snapped back to the two Autobots. "If you're so determined to accompany us, get over here then."

Sunstreaker, Ratchet and Bluestreak watched, Thundercracker standing off to the side silently, as Skywarp, Starscream, Prowl and Jazz disappeared in an electric purple haze, a small, audible crack the only remaining evidence of the four mechs previously before them.

Sunstreaker squinted his optics, unhooking his rifle from his arm mount. He straightened, scanning the skies above the group before turning slowly behind him. "We're being followed," he hissed.

* * *

The Nemesis was dark, all power offline.

The four stepped out from their grouping, reappearing on the cold Nemesis bridge, the icy chill from the ocean's depth permeating through the hulking metallic frame. Starscream immediately went to the main computer terminal, entering in his access codes to bring the offline computer core back up to speed, Skywarp at his side.

Prowl stood back, watching the two Seekers at the controls, on guard. Jazz wandered around the bridge, taking in the Nemesis architecture, the battle stations of the Decepticons, their base headquarters from whence they operated. He had seen other Decepticon bases before during his infiltrations back on Cybertron, but hadn't ever been inside Megatron's own operating lair.

It wasn't quite what he had expected.

The power surged suddenly, terminals flickering and blinking online. Starscream smirked, pleased that his overrides had worked. He began sifting through the backlog, through the communications logs, searching for the secure messages from Cybertron to Megatron from Shockwave himself.

Prowl approached Starscream from behind, watching the Seeker's hands fly over the console. His optics raced over the Decepticon information flying across the screens. There was so much information there, so much valuable, actionable intelligence. He wouldn't pass this opportunity up.

Prowl called out across his bond for Jazz. The Saboteur quickly came to his side, faceplates questioning as the Seekers continued to work next to them, Skywarp shooting irritated and angry glares their way every few kliks.

::You've hacked into Decepticon systems before.:: Prowl sent out. ::You're familiar with their security protocols. Can you bring down a Decepticon firewall for a download?::

Jazz nodded slowly, small smile playing at his faceplates. ::You are gettin' sneaky in your old age, Prowl.::

::It's just your processor rubbing off on me after all these vorns.::

Jazz smirked, letting loose a cable from within a secure compartment on his forearm. Prowl moved to block Jazz from the view of the Seekers, Starscream entirely wrapped up and mumbling to himself as he cross-referenced the files.

Jazz plugged into the Nemesis terminal and set to work evading the cyber protections of the Decepticon computer, worming his way through the firewalls and covering his tracks with Decepticon-code, hastily written in his wake. The security programs faltered, recognizing the coding style but still suspicious around the fading flashes of an invasion.

Jazz slipped through the systems, searching for the databanks and for the information caches within the systems.

Skywarp glared at his side once more, irritated at Prowl's too-close presence. The Enforcer was nearly brushing his armor, entirely inside his wing space and peering across the purple jet to where Starscream was working. Skywarp sighed, angrily twitching his wings before he noticed the crouching form of Jazz, behind and underneath Prowl.

He snarled, whipping around, his fist flying through the air. Prowl slammed his hand into Skywarp's oncoming fist, catching the punch and forcing it backwards, twisting the Seeker's elbowjoint. Skywarp gasped, knocking backwards and into Starscream, twisting and wrenching his arm free. He stumbled backwards, clutching his pained joint before raising his arm ray towards Prowl and Jazz, still jacked into the Nemesis systems. Prowl stood in front of him, acid pellet rifle armed and aimed levelly at Skywarp, his optics blazing.

Starscream, knocked sideways and to his knees from Skywarp's impact, glanced between Prowl and Skywarp then saw Jazz fully jacked into the Nemesis. "I see your Autobot morals don't extend to respecting the Decepticons, Prowl," Starscream sneered. "Once again, you should be careful. I truly might slip and call you Megatron one of these cycles."

Skywarp hissed at Starscream. "They're jacking our databanks! We need to protect our files!"

Starscream held Prowl's burning optics. "No," he said to Skywarp. "All they will find is Megatron's weaknesses." He turned back to the terminal, Skywarp's sputtering continuing completely ignored behind him. The Decepticons would be so different, entirely different, underneath Starscream. None of Megatron's weakness would remain. Starscream would banish his presence, burn through all his corruption and his antiquated thoughts and plans. No remnant of his leadership would remain; Starscream would remake the universe, entirely, in his own Decepticon image. Let the Autobots wallow in their supposed victory. It would not last for long.

Jazz, hearing and feeling the argument around him though still buried inside the computer, finally found the databank he was searching for. Communications protocols, sensor grids, base and supply point locations… all was there for the taking. He began his download, rapidly sorting and collating the files into identifiable and coded subfolders, compressed and isolated within his systems.

Starscream smirked, hunkering back down over the computer terminal. "I found the space bridge location. It's in Canada," he called out over his shoulder smugly, Prowl and Skywarp still training their weapons on the other. "If you're through hacking Megatron's computer, we shall leave," he sneered, moving to stand behind Skywarp.

Jazz closed his download, backing out of the Nemesis slowly and tracing his steps outwards to not arouse suspicion. The last thing he wanted was to be caught inside the Nemesis, on the wrong side of the firewall. Finally, he unplugged and severed the hardline connection, then stood next to Prowl. Prowl flashed a quick question across their bond, wrapped in concern and affection. Jazz answered back in the affirmative.

Prowl slowly lowered his rifle, Skywarp still glaring at them both. Starscream huffed behind the purple jet before turning and blasting the computer banks and terminals with his null rays, again and again, until only a smoldering pile of melted circuits and twisted metal remained, acrid smoke tingling their olfactory sensors.

Skywarp stared at Starscream in shock.

"It doesn't matter," Starscream hissed, turning back to his trinemate. His optics flashed to Prowl, burning deep crimson. "Let's go."

* * *

Far away, on the other side of the world, a small alert began flashing on Megatron's personal computer terminal inside his underground base. He leaned forward, glancing at the short lines of text beneath the blipping light, faceplates stretching into a cold, evil grin. "Excellent…" He breathed.

* * *

Prowl, Jazz, Starscream and Skywarp reappeared on the cliff edge just as the sun was rising to an entirely unexpected sight.

Thundercracker and Bluestreak were standing off to the side, bemused expressions on their faceplates, as an exceptionally infuriated Ratchet was scraping away a laser scorch from the left wing of an extremely sheepish and uncomfortable looking Fireflight. Sunstreaker stood far apart, glowering at the group.

Jazz's optic ridges shot up as Prowl snapped, "What's going on here?"

Ratchet twisted his helm, irritated disgust etched across his faceplates. "We had a follower from the Ark." He turned back to Fireflight, scratching away at the final edge of the scorch. "Sunny fired on what he thought he was a hostile spy. _This_ came crashing down."

Fireflight had the grace to look guilty, faceplates twisting in a grimace as Ratchet roughly finished on his wing though the young flier didn't utter a sound. Prowl fixed his glare on Fireflight, moving to tower over the Aerialbot in disappointment.

Firefight jumped in, speaking before Prowl could chastise him. "I want to come with you too, Prowl. I can help." He stepped forward, optics bright.

Prowl sighed heavily, shaking his head. "No, Fireflight. One surprise tagalong is enough." Prowl glanced quickly to Sunstreaker, still glowering some distance away. "You're needed back at the Ark. Do your brothers know where you are?"

Fireflight shook his helm, standing his ground. "I'm not needed back there. My brothers fly just as well without me, maybe even better. I just mess them up." Fireflight frowned, inhaling deeply. "You're the only one who took time to help me. Now I want to help you, too."

"Fireflight, no. I'm sorry. You need to return to the Ark. I understand how you feel, and I appreciate that you want to help, but this isn't the time." Prowl shook his helm again.

"Every one else is here because of how they feel too, Prowl." Fireflight stepped forward, closer to Prowl. "I remember everything you taught me. _Please._ I can do this. I _want _to do this. For you, and for everyone." He held his breath, his optics overbright and shining.

"He was difficult to bring down," Sunstreaker growled, moving to join the group. "He evaded my shots."

Ratchet sighed, reaching out with his scorer to smack Sunstreaker lightly on the upper arm. "I thought you were going to alert NORAD with all your wild firing. Primus, Sunstreaker!"

Sunstreaker looked down aghast at his arm, fingers flying to check his paint for any nick Ratchet might have scratched into him. Ratchet shook his helm and frowned at the golden twin. "I didn't scratch your paint, ego-bot." Sunstreaker frowned at Ratchet, but said nothing.

Jazz chuckled slightly at the display while Prowl continued to stare down at Fireflight. The young flyer was looking up at him intently, determination etched across his faceplates and set in his frame. Prowl knew Fireflight was capable, and was in fact an excellent flyer when he put his mind to it. They had made exceptional progress together, working through Fireflight's code and processor and focusing him in on his systems and sensors during his flying. Fireflight's bigger problem was a lack of confidence in himself, in not being able to fly out from under the wings of his brothers. That Fireflight would have to acquire elsewhere; this wasn't the time to be testing one's inner strength, not on this mission. "I'm sorry, Fireflight. Please return to the Ark."

"It'd be good to have him," Sunstreaker said again, much to everyone's shock. "It'd be good to have a flyer we can trust." Sunstreaker shot a glare over to Starscream and Skywarp, both busily looking down smugly and sneering at the young Autobot flyer. Thundercracker, still off to the side with Bluestreak, wasn't looking so smug, having seen the impressive acrobatics Fireflight executed to evade Sunstreaker's expert marksmanship.

::Sunny's right, Prowler.:: The presence of Jazz echoed through Prowl's processor.

::This is steadily veering out of control, Jazz. Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, now Fireflight?::

::When have we ever been in control with all this?::

Prowl stared down at Fireflight. The young flyer looked back into his optics, never wavering, not backing down. "You must follow all of my orders, Fireflight. You must stay constantly on alert. You must _never_ let your processor wander. We will all be counting on you, and your brothers are not here to fly with you. We are all each other will have once we get to Cybertron."

Fireflight nodded his helm furiously, exhaling forcefully, his optics shining up to Prowl. "I promise, Prowl. I wont let you down! Any of you."

Ratchet stepped forward, squinting his optics down at Fireflight. "Well, if you're here to stay, I have something I need you to do for me."

* * *

Their trip to the space bridge went smoothly. Fireflight left and returned on Ratchet's errand, falling into flight formation slightly behind Starscream's wing. None of the Seekers acknowledged his presence or made to include them in their flight path.

The space bridge was buried deep in the Northwest Territories, hidden in the snowy woods and amongst the too-tall evergreen trees of the dense forest. The Autobots drove as far as they could before veering off the semi-paved roads and converting to robot form to hike the rest of the way in. Fireflight hung back, keeping in the middle distance between the advancing flying Seeker trine and the Autobots on foot.

Prowl had to admit that it was good to have Fireflight there, relaying the Seeker's positioning down to him. Jazz smirked at him over their bond.

When the Autobots finally rejoined the Seekers, Thundercracker and Skywarp were busy powering up the space bridge and inputting the interstellar telemetry for their journey. The two had often manned the space bridge controls during Megatron's various journeys back and forth. Starscream hung off to the side, unusually quiet since entering the snowy northern areas.

"All set?" Thundercracker turned to the assembled group.

Sunstreaker was helping Bluestreak load and unlock the firing pins on his shoulder rockets, the young gunner's fully-loaded laser sniper rifle affixed to his arm mount. Sunstreaker had both his laser rifles strapped to his back mounts, a mag belt strap with additional laser cores and flash grenades strung around his hipplating.

Fireflight was rolling his shoulder joints, the rockets under his wing panels fully extended and ready to be deployed. Ratchet stood next to the flyer, glancing downwards and watching his actions with a small frown. He had a smaller defensive pistol in his arm mount, as well as his quick kit for emergency field repairs ready to go in his subspace.

Jazz and Prowl stood off to the side, Jazz helping Prowl with his own shoulder-mounted rockets, a twin to Bluestreak's though slightly larger. Jazz was fully loaded and ready to go, and as he finished locking Prowl's shoulder rockets in, he cupped Prowl's helm tenderly in his hands, a small smile on his faceplates as he communicated silently over their bond. Prowl smiled back fondly, if sadly, at Jazz.

Thundercracker shared a quick glance with Skywarp, slight trepidation threading across their bond. This was the first time they'd be traveling across the space bridge back to Cybertron in battle mode, ready to engage Shockwave as an enemy. It was unnerving, finally having to face their decision to follow Starscream and engage their former allies as enemies. The Decepticons wouldn't even know who they were unless they got a visual on the Seekers. Ratchet had offlined all their comm ID transmitters, rendering them untraceable and unidentifiable to the Decepticons. They were as good as Autobots once they were there, firing on the Decepticons and unable to show their own allegiances.

They had made their choices though, had set down their path. There was no turning back. They had made that choice long ago when they had first formed up with Starscream and then again with the formation of their trine bond.

Starscream crossed over the snowy ground, the ice cracking and melting beneath his heel thrusters, still hot from their flight. Starscream and Prowl had spent the last cycle discussing their plans for breaking out of Shockwave's laboratory successfully, going back and forth over the best means to escape with minimum damage to their teammates. Starscream was less concerned with the potential offlining of the others. They argued over the schematics of Shockwave's compound, provided by Starscream, for joors, the red Seeker finally capitulating to Prowl's insistence on carefully led plans. They had data burst their eventual plan to the strike team during their journey to the Nemesis and space bridge.

Everything was set to go.

Prowl nodded to Thundercracker, the blue Seeker standing next to the controls and ready to engage the space bridge. He shared a quick look with his trine, Starscream nodding his assent as well before Thundercracker activated the bridge controls.

The end gate roared to life, outer rings spinning in opposition to the inner rings, magnetic field generating and swirling above the circular gate in an arcing sphere, expanding and reaching out into the atmosphere before stretching itself through the space warp fabric, expanding and threading its way through the interstellar medium. Each new bridge path charted new coordinates through the galaxy, avoiding and crossing through the orbital patterns of assorted stars, planetary bodies and roving asteroids. Each beam of light traveled across a new pathway, a new journey made in each jump.

The strike team squinted their optics against the flashing lights floating off the magnetic fields, energy crackling and rolling from the edges of the jump corridor.

"Let's go." Prowl strode first into the space bridge, the rest of the mechs following him inside before the gate closed behind the last of them. It spun faster, whirling around to terminal velocity, grabbing the mechs inside and flinging them through space.

* * *

As was becoming the norm, things did not go to plan.

Shockwave was, as planned, startled, knocked off balance to see his space bridge activate and receive a transportation. He cross checked the data bursts from Earth, confirming that there were no transmissions from Megatron to expect any receivers.

He whirled, arm ray raised, suspiciously waiting for the elevated platform to descend into his lab. He waited, ventilations slowly increasing, as the platform dropped, coming to a stop with its doors sliding open.

There was no one inside. For an astrosecond he stilled, optics darting to his control board, his CPU now spinning different derivative situations and whirling through the possibilities and probabilities of his space bridge malfunctioning.

Just as he was lowering his arm ray and about to cross back to his terminal, his audials picked up the tiny, tinkling sound of a faint, nigh imperceptible click, floating from within the supposedly empty elevator.

A flash grenade flew out a moment later, sliding across the deck plating and between his legs. Shockwave stared down at its path in shock, then dove to the side, firing his ray blindly into the elevator as the strike team, hidden within, exploded out.

Starscream led his trine down from their hover at the top of the elevator, chassis and tailfins scratching the ceiling plates. They flew outwards, barrel rolling and separating to circle the lab, firing down on Shockwave's equipment terminals and sending a cascade of explosive sparks raining down across the inner chamber. They weren't fast enough to stop the intruder alert from belting out, screeching and tearing though the compound to warn the Decepticons.

Prowl and Sunstreaker led the ground team, each firing out at Shockwave as the scientist dove for cover again, sliding backwards and racing out of his inner lab. He palmed shut the door, sealing the inner chamber from the outside and locking the team within securely. Starscream transformed as the rest of the team followed Prowl and Sunstreaker, rifles armed and held to fire. Bluestreak brought up the rear, sweeping the lab behind the team. "Clear!" he called.

Starscream swatted the smoke away from Shockwave's computer terminal, furiously digging into the Decepticon computer system before the hard locks descended on the mainframe. Prowl and Sunstreaker raced to the sealed doors, trying to pull apart the connections before the mag lock engaged. It was no use. They were effectively sealed in.

Jazz moved to Starscream's side at the terminal. "Can ya hack in?"

"I don't need to hack anything, Autobot. I am still a Decepticon after all." Starscream leaned closer to the terminal, optics scanning across the data on display. "I've located the freighter!" he shouted back to the team.

Jazz frowned at the terminal, scanning through the same data as Starscream. "Yeah, but look here, Starcreep." Jazz pointed at a line of text, flashing near the bottom, recently relayed to Megatron via the comm. "It isn't ready yet."

Prowl whirled, hearing and feeling Jazz's words simultaneously. "What? You said it was flight ready!" He stormed over to join the two at the terminal, stalking through the smoky lab while the rest of the team kept up their positions, Skywarp and Thundercracker flying above in circles. Fireflight hovered slightly below the two Seekers, ready to provide close cover fire.

Starscream growled, typing more input to the terminal. "Well, look who we have to thank for that," he sneered. Jazz and Prowl scanned down the report, optics blazing over the data Starscream drew up.

Jazz smirked. "Well, I'll be… Glad t' know they're still kickin' aft up here." The Autobot Resistance, the last remnants of the once strong Autobot Army, was still disturbing the great Decepticon machine on Cybertron, it seemed. They were responsible for disrupting the supply chain of materials necessary to complete the interstellar freighter for Shockwave.

Starscream threw an icy glare sideways at Jazz. "Brilliant, Autobot. They're going to be responsible for the destruction of Cybertron and your precious Earth if we don't get control of that freighter."

"The date on this report is back when you were still with Megatron." Prowl whirled on Starscream. "You knew about this!"

"They were supposed to crush your pitiful resistance cycles ago!"

"I don't mean to interrupt, but we've got bigger problems right now. Decepticon reinforcements are coming online and heading towards us." Fireflight, sensor net fully expanded, was able to detect the tremors and electrical currents racing through the laboratory, the shrill waves of the comm signals traveling back and forth, flashing over their sudden arrival. He couldn't tap into what was being said, couldn't hack into their signals, but he was able, through piecing together the sensor data, to create in his CPU a grainy picture of what was occurring outside.

"We've got to get out of here. We'll have to fall out of the city and regroup." Prowl threw one last glare at the Seeker as Starscream transformed and rejoined his trine above. "Let's all stay together!" he shouted, moving with Jazz back to the center of the lab and taking cover behind a destroyed experimental berth. Bluestreak and Sunstreaker bracketed the sealed doorway, rifles raised and ready to fire. "Starscream, blast us out of here!"

"With pleasure…" Starscream growled, transforming and circling the lab again while forming a tight wedge with his trine, silently communicating across their battlenet. The three screamed down towards the door, laser rays and rockets firing as one and never slowing their speed through the explosion of the doors. They tilted sideways as one unit to slide through the narrow crack they blasted open.

"Let's move!" Prowl hollered.

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak fired outwards, sliding through the jagged hole in the door and dropping down, rushing sideways for cover to engage the oncoming Decepticons. Prowl, Jazz and Ratchet followed, Fireflight screaming above last out of the lab.

* * *

Blitzwing dove down the side hallway as the rocket fire flew past him. Whoever had destroyed Shockwave's lab had just broken out from the sealed inner chamber, blasting their way through the hallways and heading straight into his massing forces.

He gritted his denta. He would crush these interlopers. "Attack!" He hollered, pinging the codes for a full, weapons-free assault on the intruders to his forces. They didn't need any remnants of these invaders. If it was the Autobot resistance, foolishly attacking their compound, they could perish and be obliterated entirely. He swung his company around, moving to intercept their flight.

* * *

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak led the charge down the hallways, each covering their other's advance with the rest of the team following behind. The Seekers flew above, Fireflight hugging the back of their wing formation and all three destroying the blast doors attempting to stop their advance through the compound. Fireflight kept his sensor net fully extended, feeling the rushes of the Decepticons massing against their attempts to flee. There was so much data screaming through his sensor net, so much input crashing against the CPU. He had never felt this intensely, felt the currents spike so strongly throughout him, not even in battle.

"Wait!" Fireflight called out, twisting sideways just before the Seekers blasted through another set of bulkheads. The mass of Decepticons had formed up just on the other side of those corridors. They were heading straight into the bulk of the Decepticon security forces in the compound.

The Seekers ignored Fireflight, blasting through anyway, though Prowl and Jazz heard the shriek of the Aerialbot across their commlink. "Cover!" Prowl shouted as the bulkheads exploded around them, raining down in fiery destruction. Bluestreak and Sunstreaker whirled, diving sideways as the blast hole from the Seeker's fire revealed the Decepticons, armed and aiming right at their charging advance.

The Decepticons unloaded, rocket and laser fire screaming into their hallway, destroying ever-more of the interior around them. Debris rained down on the Seekers, forcing them backwards, their elevators screaming and dragging them to a near stop before flipping backwards and barrel rolling back down the hallway for cover. A laser shot grazed the trailing edge of Skywarp's wing as he blasted back through their smoldering hole. A whimpering scream escaped his vocalizer at the searing pain.

Sunstreaker lobbed two flash grenades through the opening, flinging them as far as he could into the Decepticons closing fast to them as Bluestreak continued to fire out. He smiled as he heard the explosions and the subsequent screams, then tossed the remaining grenades to Bluestreak. "Keep them busy," he growled, turning to Prowl. The Enforcer had dashed forward, collapsing down backwards and crouching next to Sunstreaker against their smoking bit of destroyed bulkhead, Jazz and Fireflight right behind him. Jazz took up a firing position, ducking over their cover to fire his laser rifle at the Decepticons.

"We've got to get out of here," Sunstreaker shouted to Prowl over the weapons fire. He could see Ratchet, pinned back with the Seekers further down the hallway as laser blasts and rocket fire landed between their two positions. Ratchet was tending to Skywarp's burnt wing edge as the Seeker grimaced in pain, though not seeming to be in any real danger. His trinemates hovered above, scowling down the hallway.

"The way out is through them." Prowl motioned towards the company of Decepticons, steadily inching forwards to their position.

"There's another way!" Fireflight gasped, sensor net expanding through the multilevel compound surrounding them. "We can head down. Below us." They all ducked as another rocket screamed overhead. Jazz muttered a curse as they watched it impact midway down the hall, far too close to Ratchet for Sunstreaker's comfort. He squinted down the hallway, willing the medic to emerge through the smoke and destruction.

"Ratchet!"

"I'm here!" the medic called back, invisible through the haze but grouchy and angry as always.

"Is there an access junction to the underground tunnels nearby?" Prowl turned back to Fireflight, clutching down next to him. FIreflight's optics were wide and shaking with the input to his sensor net as it began to overwhelm his systems. Sunstreaker turned back to the fight, rifle firing in tandem with Bluestreak and Jazz's over their steadily decreasing hold on their isolated position.

"Yes," Fireflight gasped again, feeling outwards. "Near the hardware docks."

Prowl called up the schematics Starscream had downloaded of the compound, zeroing in on the hardware docks, backwards of their current position. They could hold a lead on the Decepticons, rushing back the way they came. He pinged a silent communiqué to the rest of the team, turning to Sunstreaker and grabbing the last of the flash grenades from Bluestreak. Sunstreaker, Bluestreak and Jazz unloaded, firing wildly as Fireflight transformed and flew down the hallway, screaming past Ratchet and the Seekers. The Seekers turned and raced after Fireflight, the little flyer leading the way to the hardware docks.

"Go!" Prowl shouted to Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, joining in with the mass of laser fire next to Jazz.

Sunstreaker fired one last shot as Bluestreak launched one of his rockets into the Decepticon company. He tore down the hallway, easily catching up to Ratchet and falling in step with the medic, Bluestreak on his heels.

Prowl lobbed the last grenade into the company, then turned and raced after his team with Jazz at his side, both of them tearing down the smoke-filled hallways, Decepticons quickly chasing after them through the burning, damaged hallways.

Blitzwing held back, squinting his optics through the smoke. He caught the forms of the intruders tearing back into the compound. "Autobots…" he hissed. "You!" He turned, hollering out to one of his Decepticon lieutenants. "Circle around to the hardware docks! Now!" His lieutenant took off, platoon falling in behind him and racing to flank the escaping Autobots.

The Decepticons were closing in on their escape as the strike team neared the docks. Fireflight let loose his rockets, blasting through the bulkheads to finally scream into the hardware docks. Jazz and Prowl slipped in after Bluestreak, Sunstreaker and Ratchet, Decepticon laser fire dogging behind them.

The hardware docks received the heavy lift material for the compound, supporting the massive experimentation and construction efforts of the Decepticons in Kaon in their quest to destroy the last of the Autobots. A forcefield had descended over the compound, cutting off the potential escape of the Autobots through the air.

"Tell me you are all in position," Blitzwing snarled over his comm link.

"We are."

"They're in the hardware docks now. Destroy them!"

Sunstreaker and Prowl slid across the deck plating as the Decepticon platoon opened fire from the external hangars of the hardware docks, pinning the team in on both sides against the Decepticons chasing them from within. "We're surrounded!" Sunstreaker shouted to Prowl as they struggled to lift the heavy grating from the deck plating covering the access to the sublevel tunnels.

Bluestreak and Jazz fired back at the Decepticons back to back, each trying to pick out the enemy with each shot and extend the laser cores of their rifles. The Seekers swerved overhead, forming a wing and swinging around for a strafing run against the new platoon of Decepticons pinning them inside the hardware docks.

"The force shield is up!" Starscream screamed. "We'll never get out of here with it online!"

Ratchet ran to Sunstreaker's side, helping him and Prowl heft they grill plating the final few feet to bring it over the edge of the inlay to shove off to the side. "We're heading down the tunnels!" Ratchet shouted back.

"What?" Starscream shouted back, shock and whining panic in his vocalizer. "I'm not burying myself underground!"

"It's the only way out!" Prowl called, firing back at the Decepticons that had followed them through the base, now pushing through their blown open bulkhead and nearly cutting Jazz, Bluestreak and Fireflight, in robot mode next to Bluestreak, off from their position near the deck plating. "Jazz! Get them over here!"

Jazz fired a volley of laser fire back towards the shorn open bulkhead, yelling for Bluestreak and Fireflight to cross the deck to Prowl. The Seekers flew overhead once more, circling and strafing the bulkhead before Skywarp peeled off, twirling and screaming down to the deck and flying headfirst down the access junction and into the tunnels as the two Autobots joined Prowl by the deck grating.

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak were covering each other next to Ratchet, firing in opposition towards the two teams of Decepticons when the ceiling caved in. Metal debris and flaming bulkheads rained down, scattering Starscream and Thundercracker's formation and separating Jazz from the group on the far side of the docks. Prowl whirled, sensing the spike of fear and shock through his bondmate.

From above, new shots peppered the team below, scorching the deck plating and scattering the mechs. Bluestreak dove downwards into the tunnels as Sunstreaker hauled Ratchet with him to the side, escaping the volley of laser fire aiming in their direction. Prowl reared up, hefting his acid pellet rifle and firing on the new invaders, rage racing through his frame and determination settling indelibly into his processor. He _had_ to get to Jazz.

Jazz shook himself, pushing the rubble and debris off his form and struggling to his feet. He growled as he realized he had lost his laser rifle in the explosion that knocked him backwards. He gasped, limping and grimacing down at his lower leg to see a jagged bit of super heated bulkhead embedded into his armor. He glanced across the deck plating, between the laser shots and smoke and saw his bondmate, saw Prowl, rise up and fire above at the Decepticons, his faceplates locked in an expression he had never seen.

Jazz leaned back against the bulkhead behind him, gritting his denta against the pain and trying to slow his ventilations. He looked around, searching for some way out or for something to use as a weapon, some way back across the deck to Prowl and the rest of the team.

His optics caught against glinting metal tucked into one of the repair bays. He smiled.

Sunstreaker jumped in front of Ratchet, pushing the medic behind him and against a large cargo container as he tried to hold off the now three sets of Decepticon forces firing on them. "Ratchet! Get below!"

"I wont go down until Jazz is over here!"

Starscream and Thundercracker transformed, now entirely unable to fly without running into the laser fire. They crowded against the far bulkhead next to Fireflight, Thundercracker raising his arm rays and attempting to fire back. "Go, Starscream!" he called to his trinemate.

Starscream breathed hard, his optics wide and staring around at the immense destruction raining down around them. This was not what he and Prowl had planned, not at all. He glanced at Thundercracker, one arm pushing Fireflight back and shielding both the Aerialbot and Starscream against the bulkhead. He had two choices; he could stay here and eventually be shot, or dive underground with Skywarp.

Neither was a palatable choice to the Seeker. The depth of the tunnels prevented his comm link from reaching Skywarp. He had no way of knowing what awaited them underneath. All he could do was take the dark plunge.

Thundercracker fired again. "Go!" he hollered back. Starscream fled, transforming and flying downwards in a barrel roll into the dark depths.

Fireflight leaned around Thundercracker, seeing Decepticons now literally falling down on them from above, plunging downwards through the torn bulkhead. He fired his last rocket at the dropping Decepticons, the hot zing of the launch burning across Thundercracker's arm.

"Destroy them!" Blitzwing called. "Now!"

Every mech on the deck whirled in shock, optics wide as the sound of a heavy lift engine gunned. Tri-form headlights flashed on, illuminating the forms of the Decepticons seeking cover in front of the parked orbital bouncer, previously dark and silent. Jazz gunned the engine again, revving the intake and jumping forward, slamming into the Decepticons in front of him and running them over, crushing them as he tore across the deck plating to the access junction.

The distraction earned Jazz nearly all the Decepticons training their fire on him. "Destroy him!" Blitzwing shouted. "Destroy that bouncer!"

Runamuck turned away from his brother, staring open mouthed at Jazz's sudden attack with the bouncer and trained his EMP blaster on the two mechs against the cargo container. He had a clear shot now, the yellow one having moved aside to get a better view of the racing bouncer tearing across the deck.

Runamuck smiled, and fired.

Sunstreaker whirled, hearing the tell-tale whine of the charging EMP blast. His optics raced across the Decepticons, catching on the one sneering mech not training his weapon at Jazz. The Decepticon was aiming right at Ratchet.

"Ratchet!" Sunstreaker dove in front of the medic, crashing into the medic and throwing him to the ground. He caught the EMP blast in the center of his backplating, screaming out at the brief flash of pain before he felt nothing at all, falling limp over Ratchet as the electrical current through his body suddenly ceased.

"Sunny!" Ratchet's hands flew up to Sunstreaker's shoulderjoints, feeling the golden twin fall limp above him and sensing the electric tingle cascade through his circuits. He could smell the fried circuitry and knew the sound of the EMP blast as it cascaded through Sunstreaker's wires and cables. He rolled the golden twin to the side, trapping his legs around Sunstreaker's own and clinging to him, keeping them interlocked as he rolled them up against the cargo container for cover once more.

Jazz flew across the deck plating, hovering at waist height and blasting over the Decepticons. He swerved over the access junction, flashing a false smile of bravado at Prowl as he did so. "Hop in, baby," he called, firing his stolen laser rifle across his body to cover Prowl as the Enforcer helped grab Ratchet and the limp form of Sunstreaker, hauling both into the bouncer before jumping in after. Ratchet laid Sunstreaker out on the bench seat behind Jazz, worried optics traveling over the steadily chilling golden twin as he hunkered over his dying form.

"Thundercracker! Fireflight! Let's go!" Prowl threw himself into the flatbed of the bouncer, laying out on his front and gripping downward with his legs while firing at the Decepticons as Jazz twirled the bouncer and flew straight down the access junction. Thundercracker and Fireflight transformed and followed in a hail of laser fire.

Blitzwing inhaled shakily, trying to calm his raging overdrive. He clenched his hands into fists at his side as his comm pinged. Shockwave's cold visage appeared in his HUD. "Your shots have ceased," the scientist droned. "Have you terminated them?"

"Not yet, Shockwave."

Shockwave tilted his helm, yellow optic pulsing. "You have grievously damaged this compound, Blitzwing, in your mindless rampage. I expect you to show results for those destructive efforts."

"Yes, sir," Blitzwing snarled through gritted denta, offlining his comm and motioning for his company to follow him down into the access junction after the Autobots.


	13. Chapter 13

**Crash Into You**

Chapter 13

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**Thanks again for everything. I love hearing from you all. I hope you're all still enjoying the story. Please leave some words of feedback, even you readers reading now, well after this is published!  
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Ratchet clung to the laid out form of Sunstreaker on the bench seat behind Jazz. The bouncer bucked and twisting, tossing him around and nearly throwing him from their thin grip as Jazz plunged, descending deep down into the sublevel tunnels, into the dark depths of the planet. "Watch it!" He snapped at Jazz.

Jazz leveled off, bringing the bouncer to a crawl after descending innumerable fathoms beneath the compound. He flew slower down a dank, still tunnel, tri-lights the only illumination against the dark shapes in front of him. "Bluestreak?"

"Here!" Bluestreak's strained and tired voice called out, tri-lights finally lighting up the burned and dirty faceplates of Bluestreak, Skywarp and Starscream.

Starscream's faceplates were set in a haunted sneer, optics shining overbright as his helm darted around the dark chambers. "Which way is out?" he snapped, too quickly.

Ratchet sat up off of Sunstreaker, sliding around to kneel on the flatbed to crouch over the golden twin. "We can't go anywhere. Not yet. Sunstreaker needs immediate medical care." He frowned deeply, grabbing for his emergency kit and sweeping the medical scans across the rapidly chilling form. All of Sunstreaker's electrical activity had ceased. No current flowed through his body. His engine wasn't operating, nor were his ventilations. The energon wasn't perfusing his systems, wasn't circulating its energy throughout his frame. His spark was slowly dieing, starving for the vitally needed energon that was not reaching his spark chamber. "I need to replace his conduction circuits!" Prowl's jaw cables clenched as he came to stand next to the flatbed, gazing down at Ratchet. He hadn't realized Sunstreaker was as badly injured as Ratchet's tone, the strangled, husky, this-never-bodes-well tone suggested.

Thundercracker and Fireflight shuffled down the tunnel, dark shapes emerging from the blackness at the edge of the tri-light illumination. Thundercracker immediately moved to Skywarp and Starscream, his optics searching over the faceplates of his trine and reaching for them both. Skywarp reached back, gripping his forearm tightly; Starscream ignored him, turning away with a glare to stare down the black, impenetrable tunnel.

Fireflight slumped against the tunnel wall, faceplates dirty and wide with tired shock. "How'd we get out of there?" he whispered.

Prowl snapped his helm back down the tunnel. Bluestreak crossed to his side, shifting his helm and squinting his optics into the darkness. "We're not out of this yet!" Prowl spoke lowly, levelly. "We've got to get moving! Now!"

Bluestreak turned and ran back to the bouncer, climbing into the jump seat next to Jazz as Jazz settled back into the pilot's chair. He powered the bouncer's engines back on, rumbling and shaking the tunnel around them.

Ratchet snarled at Prowl as the Enforcer jumped onto the flatbed, dropping to his knee in a firing crouch and rising his rifle. "We can't go anywhere! Sunny needs emergency surgery!"

"Do what you can for him, Ratchet." Prowl's voice was hard, never shifting his optics from his gaze down the hallway. "If we don't get moving, we're all going to be destroyed." Ratchet didn't bother answering Prowl, clambering back over the seat to straddle Sunstreaker's laid out body with a frown. He clicked Sunstreaker's front panel off, shoving the flat yellow metal into his subspace and dug into the golden Lambo's cold internals.

From down the tunnel came the far-off clanging sounds of Decepticons thundering downwards, crashing down the access junction and pursuing the Autobots deep into the dark underground.

"Skywarp, take point. Thundercracker, Starscream, follow behind and keep them off our tail. Fireflight, when we hit the main grid, head above ground. Use your sensor net to navigate us out of here." Jazz revved the engines backwards, maneuvering the bouncer for a clear acceleration down the tunnels.

Skywarp shared a quick glance with Thundercracker before both transformed. Fireflight tiredly transformed as well, visibly pulling himself together to hover next to Thundercracker.

Starscream turned and stared at Jazz. "Who gave you the authority to give orders my trine?" he snapped.

"We don't have time for this!" Prowl growled. They could hear the clanging of the Decepticons coming down after them, moving closer. "Let's move!"

Jazz gunned the bouncer engines, surging and jumping forward with a jolting crash of energy down the tunnel. Skywarp matched his pace and speed, accelerating ahead of Jazz and twisting his wings end over end to roll ahead. Fireflight and Thundercracker flew behind the bouncer, Thundercracker flying low, nearly scrapping the tunnel floor as Fireflight flew high, near the crosshatched tunnel ceiling. Starscream transformed, scowling, and followed from a distance.

Their escape quickly alerted the Decepticons chasing after them of their location. Blitzwing turned instantly towards the sudden illumination and vibrations shaking down the dank tunnels. "There they are," he whispered before calling upwards to his lieutenant. "You! Go topside! Cut them off at the main grid!" Blitzwing turned back down the dark hallway, watching the fading burns of the engine thrusters disappear. "The rest of you with me." Blitzwing abruptly transformed into his aerial mode, one of the two alt modes the triple changer possessed.

Bluestreak peered through the scope on his laser sniper. "They're coming, sir. I can see their energy readings advancing towards us, well, not all of them, but I can pick out three in the lead, and then an energy wash behind that –" Bluestreak's babble was cut off by the crashing echo of a launching rocket. The flaming end of the rocket cut an illuminating path through the dark tunnel, briefly shining on the looming, flying forms of the Decepticons chasing them.

"Hang on!" Jazz called. "I'm going to try and lose them in the main grid!" Prowl hefted his rifle, dropping down to the flatbed once more and hooking his legs behind the base of the bench seat for grip.

Skywarp saw the shimmering edges of the forceshield first, separating and protecting the tunnels of the compound from the main grid of the lower level circuitry and hardware of Cybertron. "We're blocked in!" He called back to Jazz.

"We'll have to make our own way out! Fire on the bulkheads!" Jazz called back, activating the bouncer's laser cutter. It was hardly weapons grade, but it would have to do.

Skywarp and Jazz opened fire, targeting the bulkheads all around the shimmering forceshield, emanating from within the bulkhead itself, emitters woven into the circuitry of the compound in its entirety. The bulkhead burned, wavering and cracking before exploding outward in a mess of burning wires and crackling circuitry, mere astroseconds before Skywarp plunged through. He winced as he approached, his optics sensors seeing only a sealed, intact bulkhead all the way until he plunged through the fiery tear.

Skywarp dug into his thrusters, blasting and rocking as he swung wildly to the right, flying over and through the crosshatched internals of Cybertron itself, the circuits, electronics, and hardware sprawling through the interconnected maze that was the main grid of Cybertron.

The tear wasn't quite large enough for the bouncer to squeeze through unscathed. Jazz swung wildly, twirling the bouncer over and around and trying to dive through the largest section. He heard Ratchet curse vehemently, heard the thud and crunch of a hard impact behind him. Bluestreak's optics were wide, gripping with one hand on his jump seat, the other trying to continue his watch down the tunnel, desperately trying for a clean shot in the oppressive darkness.

Still, as the bouncer scraped through, Jazz felt the shudder tear through the side, a jagged slice scraping the undercarriage. They all jolted, knocked around violently at the impact. Jazz felt a surge of panic across his bond for half an astrosecond before it was replaced with an equally powerful surge of relief. Prowl had slipped, lost the hold with his feet, sliding across the flatbed. He reached out blindly, grabbing at the thatched metal frame beneath him, digging fingers into the flatbed and gripping down tightly, clinging on as Jazz twirled them back to rights.

Ratchet cursed, screaming over his perch on top of Sunstreaker to Jazz. "Are you insane?" He had been buried inside Sunstreaker, fingers trying to jump start the engine controls and trying to get some sort of charge through the circuitry. Nothing had sparked. The EMP had destroyed his conduction circuits entirely.

"Sorry Sunny," Ratchet murmured before pulling the portable laser torch from his emergency kit and slicing through the golden armor plating, leaving a twisted, melted trail in his wake. He reached in, separating the panels roughly and twisting the metal plating backwards, exposing the unprotected edges of Sunstreaker's engine.

Jazz swerved a hard left once through the tear, gunning the thrusters in an opposite arc of Skywarp. Thundercracker and Fireflight tumbled through moments later, laser fire echoing behind them. Fireflight immediately peeled upwards, arching hard and flying straight skyward towards the topside as Thundercracker followed Jazz's route left.

Starscream exploded through moments later, laser and rocket fire chasing him outwards. His wings clipped the jagged edges of the tear, and he growled his frustration out in a loud snarl. Starscream followed Fireflight's arc upwards, peeling away from the rest of the group and heading topside as well.

"Starscream!" Thundercracker called. "Where are you going?"

"With that Autobot flyer! He can't lead us out without someone watching his wing!" Starscream rolled, narrowly avoiding a tubule bisecting his flight path before catching sight of the small Aerialbot zooming skyward again. He couldn't care less about the Aerialbot, but if flying on his wing got him out of the oppressive depths, he'd do it.

Blitzwing blasted his way out of the compound, rockets neatly obliterated the remnants of the tear and blowing the hole wide enough for him to comfortably fly through. He hovered, tracing the energy signatures through the compound and trying to pinpoint the Autobot's location amongst the wildly varied energy signatures of Cybertron's internals. He focused in on the movement, the swiftly moving energy signals dashing away from his location.

Skywarp flew downwards, zigging and zagging through the interlay of the systems. His flight path had taken him upwards, far and away from the descending drop that Jazz and Thundercracker had flown. Finally, he saw Jazz and Thundercracker again, flying diagonally downwards and flying deeper into the core. He couldn't catch them, not with simple thrusters. With a quick scan, Skywarp plotted the telemetry into his processor and initiated a tight jump.

Jazz jumped, startled as Skywarp materialized in front of him, skidding slightly wide before straightening his flight path and zooming ahead. Jazz followed, just as Fireflight's voice broke over the comm. "I'm clear! I'm starting to scan…" his voice tapered away, the little flyer burying his processor into his steadily expanding sensor fields. "Keep heading straight. Don't dive any deeper," he called back over the comm.

"Can you go any faster?" Prowl shouted backwards. Next to Jazz, Bluestreak's optics widened, shining overbright. He scrambled, shakily climbing out of his jump seat and clambering over the bench seat, Ratchet so buried in his patch work attempt to save Sunstreaker's life he didn't even notice Bluestreak climbing behind him.

Bluestreak clattered down to the flatbed next to Prowl. Behind them, steadily approaching, was an entire wing of Decepticon flyers, Acid Storm and Blitzwing at the lead. Their lasers and rockets were fully armed, zinging with unshed power and preparing to strike. Bluestreak matched Prowl's positioning, laying flat and gripping downwards with his feet, trying to secure himself as he tilted his helm to view through his rifle's sniper scope.

"Aim for the wings. Knock their sensors offline." Prowl said softly to Bluestreak next to him. "Maybe we can get them to crash into each other."

"It is tight in here." Bluestreak nervously replied, as Jazz dove the bouncer above then crashed down below an interlocking series of tubules and conduits, crossing and interweaving across their escape path from the Decepticons.

Thundercracker flew slightly above the bouncer, keeping a data link with Fireflight and trying to map on his HUD the sketchy displays the Aerialbot was sending him. He forwarded as much of the data as he could to Skywarp, the purple Seeker leading their escape through the grid.

"Fire!" Blitzwing ordered, his flyers arranged around him in a wing formation, Acid Storm at the point, all tearing down after the escaping Autobots. They unloaded, rockets and laser fire erupting wildly through the cramped spaces, arcing and reaching through the grid for the Autobot bouncer.

Prowl and Bluestreak opened fire, Bluestreak attempting to hit the flyers themselves as Prowl tried to knock out the oncoming rockets. They fired again and again, rifles bleeding energy and growing hot in their hands as they themselves unloaded back at the Decepticons as Jazz wildly swung, diving and rising to evade their fire.

Thundercracker abruptly lost the data feed from Fireflight. "What happened" he called upwards. "Starscream? Are you all right?"

"We've got company," Starscream growled.

Fireflight and Starscream had broken through to the topside of the grid, screaming out of the grid interlay before swinging back downward and flying low across the topside. Fireflight flew in the lead, sensors pointing forward and outwards, trying to grab as much telemetry as he could for the team dodging the Decepticon pursuit below.

From behind them came Blitzwing's second assault team, flying high and zooming down to press them down into the grid. Starscream turned immediately at the sensor contact, zooming upwards and arching around, meeting the oncoming Seekers at their own elevation. He recognized their formation, recognized their flight plan. Starscream sneered. He wasn't the Decepticon Air Commander for nothing.

Starscream dove directly for their center, flying hard and fast for the lead flyer. They held formation, flying to intercept him until the last astrosecond and finally breaking away when they felt the acceleration boost from his turbo thrusters. Starscream rolled through the remnants of their formation, arcing his null rays up and outwards and catching two of the back flyers with quick blasts before coming around for the others.

The lead had ignored Starscream's assault, flying downwards and now in pursuit of Fireflight. The Aerialbot was dodging the Seeker's shots, his scanning long forgotten and rising high and skimming low across the grid. Starscream barreled downward, bringing the remaining Seeker with him as he settled into an azimuth with Fireflight. "I'm coming at you sideways, Autobot!" Starscream called. "Fire on mine as I do on yours! Don't frag this up!"

Fireflight chirped across the comm, too busy with focusing on his own evasion and trying to futilely reengage contact with Thundercracker to properly respond to Starscream.

Starscream arched high, rolling upwards while maintaining his trajectory towards the young Aerialbot. He arched back down to the deck, tearing straight down, still trailing the Seeker firing on his aft before leveling off and screaming the remaining distance straight into Fireflight's course.

The Seeker on his tail knew as soon as he laid into his final course what was about to happen. He had overcommitted though, pouring too much speed into his pursuit to let up safely. He tried, rising up sharply before his engine sputtered, intakes choking on the angle. Starscream smirked as he opened fire on the entirely oblivious Seeker trailing Fireflight, counting on the young Aerialbot to destroy his own struggling Seeker, desperately trying to get away.

Starscream flew overhead the Autobot, null rays flashing against the armor of the Decepticon Seeker and tearing through his tri-form wings, destroying the nose cock-pit. The other shivered, shaking from the loss of equilibrium before tumbling end over end to the deck and burying himself in the surface of Cybertron in a smoky, explosive crater.

Fireflight fired on Starscream's trailing Seeker, his attempts to escape leaving his thruster ports wide open. Fireflight fired, rays arching into the Seeker's flight path just as the escaping Seeker flew into the oncoming shots, thrusters exploding from within with too much energy suddenly burning throughout. He exploded, a small fireball consuming itself from within, falling quietly to the surface.

Starscream settled in behind Fireflight's wing once more as the Aerialbot reconnected with Thundercracker.

Thundercracker cursed, rolling over to avoid a rocket and then arcing high to avoid a conduit. The Decepticons had closed in fast and hard. Bluestreak and Prowl were firing wildly, trying to dissuade the pursuing wing from continuing their chase. So far, they had managed to knock two Seekers out of the chase.

There were still four to go.

Thundercracker was trying to cover Jazz's bouncer as well as engage the pursuing Decepticons. He wasn't having much luck. Flying at these speeds, he was doing more evasion of the Cybertron internals than anything else.

Fireflight's comm. link distracted him, jolting his flight path momentarily. "Climb higher!" Fireflight called. "Try to lose them in the grid. You're going to come up on the edge of the cityspace!"

Their grid frame was running out. Kaon's cityspace would disappear, blend seamlessly back into the smooth outer expanse of the planet, grid conduits once more sheltered from the chill air. Thundercracker passed the comm on to Skywarp, still chasing point ahead of Jazz's wildly swinging rolls over and through the grid frame.

Ratchet cursed again, struggling to maintain his grip on Sunstreaker through the bouncing and shaking of their escape. His legs were gripped tight around the golden twin's hips, feet hooked into the bench seat as his hands dug inside Sunstreaker's engine. He knew if Sunstreaker were to come back online that he would be in agonizing pain. Their internals were not meant for another mech to shove their hands inside, rooting around and tearing into their gears. Ratchet's hands and fingers pried apart his engine components, pushing aside lines and panels to reach the Lambo's pistons.

Ratchet fell forward across Sunstreaker's body once more as Jazz ducked the bouncer under another crossing conduit. He groaned, his fingers twisting inside Sunstreaker's internals awkwardly. Gritting his denta, Ratchet hauled himself up again, grabbing the pistons between his fingers and began to pump them, up and down, over and over. He was trying, desperately trying, to manually pump the energon through Sunstreaker's frame and to get it to energize the spark chamber surrounding the twin's spark. He could feel the spark, fluttering and spasming inside Sunstreaker's chest each time he fell across the golden twin's body.

Blitzwing pushed harder, driving Acid Storm forward, driving their entire section into the laser fire of Bluestreak and Prowl. "Closer!" he hollered. "Obliterate them!"

Acid Storm arched higher, focusing his attack on Thundercracker. Thundercracker felt the scoring of a lroaser blast across his wing, zinging through his frame and tearing across his sensitive wing sensors. He felt himself lose control, briefly, momentarily, before he fell and dropped down towards the bouncer.

"TC!" Skywarp screamed over their commlink, feeling his trinemate's panic and pain over their bond.

Thundercracker grunted, manually forcing an override reboot of his systems, igniting his thrusters bare astroseconds before crashing downwards into the bouncer. He nearly landed on top of Ratchet, the medic still ignoring the battle raging all around to focus on Sunstreaker beneath him. Bluestreak and Prowl clung to the flatbed, watching with wide optics as the jet nearly flattened them, thruster ports swinging out of control and nearly slicing their flatbed in half. Jazz gunned the thrusters on the bouncer as hard as they would go, red lining the already massively strained engines.

Blitzwing drove forward, seizing the Autobot's distraction and disarray. Acid Storm threw his afterburners on hard, gunning fast and away from the formation. Blitzwing followed, the tunnels narrowing around them as they reached the edge of their cityspace while the rest of the wing fell in behind his jet form.

Thundercracker grunted again, trying to regain his balance. "My equilibrium sensors are out," he called downwards.

"Pull up, Thundercracker!" Jazz shouted. "Join the others topside!"

Thundercracker didn't waste any time. He rolled sideways, dodging and over a conduit before arching up and gunning for the topside, clear of the grid internals.

"Follow that one," Blitzwing called backwards to his two wing mates. "We've got these two."

Skywarp relayed Fireflight's telemetry to Jazz's HUD. "We're going to hit the city edge soon."

Jazz frowned, ducking as another laser shot arched across their left side. He could hear that laser being fired, heard the charge and the crackle of energy. The Decepticons were close, too close. Jazz knew the bouncer's engines wouldn't outrun the Decepticons, but he had hoped he'd be able to out maneuver them through the twisting conduits of the grid. He frowned again, searching through the HUD for a path, a junction, some advantage he could exploit over the chasing Decepticons.

"Prowl!" Jazz called backwards suddenly.

::Yes?:: Prowl answered through their bond, still firing with Bluestreak at the Decepticons now entirely too close to their bouncer. They were exposed, clear out on the flatbed for anyone's shot to hit. Only Jazz's erratic flying was preventing any shots from landing, diving and sweeping through the grid frame in opposition to the Decepticon's own maneuvers.

::I've got an idea.::

Jazz dove suddenly, straight down, screaming downwards deep into the core. Bluestreak, unprepared for the sudden directional shift, flew backwards, sliding across the flatbed and into the back of the bench seat, hitting it with a crashing crunch. Ratchet, still desperately trying to pump Sunstreaker's energon manually, flew sideways, crashing into the back of Jazz's pilot seat while Sunstreaker's limp form rolled out of his grasp. Ratchet swore violently, desperately trying to right Sunstreaker again and get his hands back inside his engine. Energon poured out of the golden Lambo, pooling and sliding across the bouncer's floor and the back of their seats.

Prowl was the only mech expecting Jazz's dive. He moved to the edge of the flatbed, crouching low and presenting himself as an enticing target for the fast approaching Acid Storm. Just as Jazz dove, Prowl leapt.

He flew through the air, jumping upwards as Jazz plummeted downwards, away from his body and deeper into the core. Prowl flailed, arms swinging wildly as Acid Storm flew underneath him, the Seeker's thrusters shrieking in a vain attempt to stop, to slow, to avoid the inevitable crash.

Prowl landed squarely on the flyer's cockpit, hands and legs gripping and driving downward, knocking the flyer entirely off balance and sending his wings scrapping against and into the grid conduits in a hailstorm of sparks and surging electricity. The surge arched, pounding against and through his frame, reverberating backwards against the grid and initiating a cascade of explosions down the tunnel.

Skywarp, entirely unprepared for Jazz's actions as well, rolled sideways, over and under the conduits and barely managing to escape the suddenly erratic flying of the Decepticon Acid Storm. Blitzwing threw his own thrusters in reverse, too close to Acid Storm to avoid being caught in the explosions emanating outwards from the grid circuits, arching again and again in a mass of electricity. It arched into him, zapping across his circuits and fritzing his sensitive internals, overloading and burning through his control lines. Blitzwing growled, screaming sideways as he held back, watching Acid Storm struggle under the attack of the Autobot.

Prowl swung, hard and furious, downwards into the cockpit, into the jets internals, scraping and tearing at the exposed electronics and armor seams. He couldn't break into the metal plating and grabbed his rifle instead, mag locked to his arm mount. He fired point blank into the sensitive spaces between the wings and the body, setting fire to the internal lines of the flyer. Prowl bucked, falling to his chestplating and gripping the flyer's wing as Acid Storm tried to throw Prowl off of him, grunting against the pain suddenly seeping through him.

The conduits were too small to adequately transform, their flight taking them too far to the cityspace edges. Acid Storm was entirely helpless, fighting one on one with the Autobot clambering over him. He bucked again, diving to scrap close to a conduit, intent on physically tearing the Autobot off him.

Prowl ducked down, sliding off the top of the wing body and dropping below the jet, clinging to the bare edge of his wing as his body flew through the air. Acid Storm was flying slower now, the combined damage and distraction that Prowl had caused slowing his flight and pursuit of the bouncer.

Prowl saw Blitzwing, saw the Decepticon target Prowl, saw him gun his engines, trying to fly closer to Acid Storm and the dangling, vulnerable form of Prowl under his wing. Blitzwing flew erratically, smoke trailing behind his cockpit and his internals smoldering within from the electrical storm that had torn through his body. He took aim, scanners zeroing in to Prowl's hanging, defenseless body as Acid Storm flew across an access junction, disappearing deep into the core.

::Now, Jazz!::

Jazz thundered skyward, the bouncer flying straight vertical and exploding out from the shaft directly underneath Prowl and Acid Storm. He had flown below, paralleling the flight path of their pursuers while Prowl distracted them, destroying Acid Storm in an inspired seat-of-their-aft attempt at Jet Judo.

Prowl let go of the wing, let himself fall backwards and down into the junction as Jazz flew up. He twisted, reaching to grab the blast shield of the bouncer directly in front of Jazz as he impacted hard with a metallic crunch. He felt his bumper collapse, felt his ventilations stop, cycle once, and then jerkily restart. He felt his legs swing, wild and out of control, around the bottom of the bouncer, crashing into the undercarriage and burning on their impact against the overheated metals.

Bluestreak, now prepared and anticipating Jazz's actions, leaned out as far as he could stretch from the jump seat, firing an arc of shots down the tunnel as they blew past, heading skyward, heading topside. Acid Storm, unprepared entirely for the reappearance of Jazz, futilely tried to back fire, tried to reverse, tried to avoid the oncoming bouncer. Bluestreak's shots hit him head on, catching the fires previously started by Prowl inside the flier's torn internals and sent a cascade of burning energy throughout his form. He exploded, bits of twisted metal and sharp fragments of debris scattering and swirling throughout the tunnel, bouncing and ricocheting off the grid lines, some burying themselves within the sensitive exposed circuits of Cybertron, the rest consumed in a hailstorm of fire, extending backwards through the tunnel.

Blitzwing transformed to his second alt form, lancing agony shooting through his frame as the excess energy and electricity painfully discharged and arched back into him, bouncing off the grid. His ground assault form fell, dropping from the fiery explosion of Acid Storm, dropping downwards into the depths of the core. He flashed a quick call for aid, a mayday back to the compound, before he disappeared into the inky blackness.

Bluestreak reached around the blast shield and pulled Prowl's damaged body back into the bouncer, himself latched into the jump seat. He clung to the other Datsun, holding him tightly as he pulled themselves backwards and over the shield. They landed in a heap next to Jazz, still piloting them upwards, still heading skywards.

Jazz reached one hand out and gripped Prowl's arm tightly, physically feeling his bondmate next to him as he overflowed in feelings of relief, of joy, of happily choked terror beat back by the success of their escape. Prowl reached a shaky hand up to Jazz's, squeezing back and smiling at Jazz across their bond. Their feelings were the same.

Jazz slowed, the grid breaking apart in front of him, the topside coming closer. He pinged a comm to Fireflight, questioning where the Seekers and their Aerialbot were. As he crested the grid, rolling forwards to fly level once more, he saw a smoking crater, black smoke billowing from above, then heard the scream of incoming thrusters cascading through the sky, crashing down on their location.

Panic seized Jazz's frame. Their bouncer was fried. Jazz had pushed it entirely beyond its limits, beyond its operating capacity, coaxing and cajoling every last bit of energy from its overworked frame. They had barely escaped, barely evaded their pursuers. They couldn't do so again. "Fireflight!" He called out again, searching the darkening skies around him for the incoming flier.

"Here!" Fireflight's tired, but upbeat vocalizer pinged back. "Right here!" The red and white flyer zipped across the topside grid, away from the smoking crater and back towards Jazz and the bouncer.

"Where are the Seekers?" Prowl pulled himself up, leaning heavily against Jazz's side.

"We're here." Thundercracker called, falling in front of Jazz's bouncer with Skywarp, forming a reverse wing with Jazz as their rear apex.

"Where's Starscream?" Jazz's visor scanned the topside grid, searching for the familiar form of the Seeker against the ambient electrical energy.

"Do you miss me?" Starscream's unmistakable vocalizer screeched out, the red jet appearing suddenly from within the upper levels of the grid.

"Where did you go?" Prowl asked.

"That explosion wasn't enough." Starscream snapped. An incredible boom, cascading from deep within the grid, electrical explosions lighting up the dim depths of the deep internals, suddenly shattered the still night air. A rumble started, far beneath them, the only warning they had before the electrical gird collapsed, plunging Kaon and the surrounding cityscape into blackness, into an electrical void, their grid offline.

"That was enough." Starscream finished smugly.

"Land this fragging craft now!" Ratchet screamed suddenly out at Jazz from his perch on top of Sunstreaker.

Prowl shifted, forcing his battered body up to look backwards at Ratchet and Sunstreaker. Ratchet was hovered over Sunstreaker's body again, the both of them covered in Sunstreaker's energon, his chest plates mangled and torn open. Ratchet's hands were buried in Sunstreaker's engines once more, manually pumping as many pistons as he could. Prowl's optics widened, color fading around the edges in shock as he took in the sight.

"Ratchet…" he began, trailing off, not knowing how to ask, rage and fear gripping him as one. "Is he...?"

"Not yet," Ratchet growled, turning back to Sunstreaker and trying to pump harder, faster, his other hand covering the chest plate of Sunstreaker's spark chamber. "But he's close." Ratchet glared at the back of Jazz's helm. "Your slagging sorry excuse for flying hasn't helped any. What the frag was that?"

Jazz didn't answer, silently communicating with Fireflight to find a hideout, a hidden corner tucked away from the cityspace and tucked out of sight. Fireflight was flying higher, sensors expanding to try to collect as much data as he could.

"You're not a slaggin pilot, Jazz!" Ratchet continued. "You could have killed us all! You've probably killed Sunstreaker!" Ratchet shakily inhaled, rage finally unleashing inside himself as he pumped harder at Sunstreaker's engines, feeling the golden twin's spark flutter without rhythm, without pattern, inside his chest.

"That's enough!" Prowl said, strength behind his words, if not in his body. "He knew what he was doing."

"He's not a fragging pilot, Prowl!"

"I said that's enough!"

Ratchet held Prowl's angry gaze, his optics burning with rage, before shifting to glare at Jazz's helm and turning back to Sunstreaker. He couldn't do anything, anything at all, until they landed and he was able to tear into the twin, able to rip out his ruined circuits and replace them and get his systems back online and flowing with energy once more. Until then, he kept up his manual pumping, the only thing keeping Sunstreaker alive.

* * *

Fireflight sleepily onlined his optics, turning his helm towards the fuzzy form that was trying to shake him out of recharge.

Ratchet loomed over the young flyer, faceplates exhausted and worn. "Fireflight? I need those fruits now."

Fireflight offlined his optics briefly, cycling their input sensors once before onlining them again. He frowned, then inhaled sharply; it took the young flyer several astroseconds for his processor to correctly recall just where he was.

He wasn't on the Ark, wasn't safely in his quarters with his brothers. He was on Cybertron, with Prowl and Jazz, with the Seekers, with Bluestreak, Sunstreaker and Ratchet. He was hiding, far on the outskirts of Kaon, near the bare expanses of the planet's surface, far from the prying scans and sensors of the Decepticons, in the blown out and destroyed hulk of what was once an elite housing sector, discovered by Starscream after their successful escape from Shockwave's compound.

He had been sitting down, leaning against the far wall with Bluestreak next to him. The last thing he had remembered was the tense silence that had settled over the group as Ratchet and Bluestreak had carried the limp body of Sunstreaker into the back section of the house Ratchet declared was his medbay. Ratchet had been covered in Sunstreaker's energon, purple liquid shining harshly off his white armor against their dim emergency lights.

"Fireflight?" Ratchet spoke again, gently shaking the Aerialbot's shoulder.

Fireflight shook his helm, pushing himself upwards to stand next to the medic. He reached into his subspace, pulling out several human bags filled with now-squished and severely mangled fruits. He grimaced. "I'm sorry, Ratchet. They didn't do so well during that flight." He turned apologetic optics up to the tired medic's faceplates.

Ratchet shook his helm, taking the bags from Fireflight's grip. "That's just fine, Fireflight. I don't need the fruit itself." He turned, walking away from the young flyer and back towards his medical area.

Fireflight frowned after him, confused. Ratchet had sent him away on a personal errand immediately after Prowl had agreed to let Fireflight onto the mission. Ratchet had pulled Fireflight quietly aside, speaking low so only the flyer could hear and catching optics with Prowl as he did so. The Seekers, whom Fireflight was much more concerned with than Sunstreaker, even though the Lambo had shot at him, were utterly ignoring him, moving together and silently communicating in their own trine way. It had made him ache, just once, briefly, for his brothers' presence.

Fireflight had pushed that aside though, transforming and flying off for Ratchet's errand.

Ratchet's highly unusual errand. He was to go collect fruit. Apples, cherries, apricots, and peaches. As much as he could carry in his subspace. Fireflight was secretly pleased with himself, happy for once about his wandering sensors and processor. He often flew over and around fruit orchards at the outer limits of the human's farmland, enjoying the mess of color and organic life beneath him. He knew just where to go.

He returned to the team as they were making their way northward, heading for the space bridge. Prowl had relayed his location back to the Ark in his absence, transmitting a shocked and angry message from Silverbolt to Fireflight's comm. It hurt to hear his brother so shocked and angry with him, so hurt sounding, but Fireflight refused to reconsider his decision. He refused to turn back.

Ratchet had asked him to keep silent about his errand, which Fireflight did. He told no one, though none of the mechs asked. The Seekers were far too busy ignoring him, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker keeping watch on the Seekers and discussing tactics with Prowl and Jazz. Fireflight pinged a confirmation to Ratchet, cheerfully letting the medic know he had successfully collected his quantity of fruit.

Now though, Fireflight was confused. He glanced around the dark, empty room. They were far on the outskirts of Kaon, on the edge of the bare sectors of Cybertron. There was no sun here, not like on Earth. The planet floated through the blackness of space, only the self-sustained energy of the planet itself, the processes and functions of the grid they had made their escape through, kept the planet alive. Normally illuminated, normally well-lit up, Starscream's destruction of the Kaon sector of the main grid had plunged that cityspace and that sector into the darkness. Even out where they were hiding, there should have been some form of light, some bleed of the brightness of the cityspace. Instead, there was only a deep darkness, only the soft blue of their emergency lights scattered around the crumbling safehouse for light. The walls were broken, mangled and half destroyed in certain areas, holes in the ceiling leading up to expose the upper floors above. There was no sign of Prowl or Jazz, no sign of the Seeker trine. Bluestreak was deep in recharge against the wall, next to where Fireflight had just been.

Fireflight frowned, confused, and moved to follow Ratchet into his hastily constructed medbay area.

Prowl, working to remove the dents from his own bumper, his armor scratched and dented, burns scorching the paint on his legs, was leaning back against the wall opposite the makeshift medberth Ratchet had set up, a small slab of metal balanced off the ground on top of two piles of even debris.

Sunstreaker lay on top, still and silent, slow drips of energon sliding down into his internals.

Fireflight's optics widened at the sight, glued to the form of the golden Lambo. He inhaled shakily, stepping closer.

"He's going to be alright," Prowl softly said, watching Fireflight move to Sunstreaker's side.

Fireflight saw Ratchet briefly glance up to Prowl, a stern glare slightly marring his faceplate's before he turned back to the worktable he had also recently constructed out of similar material as the medberth. Smashed fruit bits and mechanical computer equipment were spread out across the surface.

Fireflight joined Ratchet at the table, a frown still crossing his faceplates. The medic glanced downward, optic ridges raised as Fireflight peered at the mess on his work surface. After a long moment, Fireflight hesitantly asked, "What are you doing, Ratchet?"

Ratchet sighed heavily, rolling a squished apricot across the surface, the juices leaking across the marred metal. "I need to build something, Fireflight. And one of the components I need is naturally found on Earth in these fruits. I don't have time to manually synthesize it, nor do I have access to the raw materials." Ratchet looked back down to the flyer, frowns still on both of their faceplates. "Thanks to you, I can extract what I need from the fruit, then duplicate the molecular structure from there, as opposed to creating the compound from scratch."

"What are you building?" Fireflight asked, curiosity spreading across his vocalizer.

Prowl stood, drawing Ratchet's gaze before he crossed to their work surface. "Fireflight, can you stand guard outside this area when Ratchet is working, quietly?"

Fireflight frowned.

"Ratchet is working on something very sensitive. I want to keep as much of it as secret as possible, and that includes from the Seekers. They're on the top level of this house right now, keeping watch and recharging. However, Ratchet and I need to keep this secret from them. Can you help us by making sure the Seekers don't come in here when Ratchet is working on this project?" Prowl tired optics burned down into Fireflight's.

Fireflight nodded, though he was still confused. Still, he remembered his promise to Prowl, to follow all his orders, to work together with the team and to never let them down. "Okay." He glanced back to Ratchet. "Good luck." The young flyer smiled hesitantly, then moved towards the doorway, stopping briefly to gaze at Sunstreaker's resting body before disappearing back into the main room.

Ratchet sighed again, continuing to roll the squished fruit across the table surface. Prowl's optics stayed locked on his red hands, mutilating the already destroyed fruit. Ratchet could feel the sticky juices easing into his finger joints, the sugary composition readily analyzed by the sensitive sensors in his fingertips. Trace amounts of sugar, pollens, pesticides, and metals were all detected under his grip.

"This is for the weapon?" Prowl's voice, quiet and low, broke the silence that had settled over the medical area once more. He didn't need to ask; he already knew the answer. Still, they needed to discuss this plan, their actions to destroy their enemies.

Ratchet nodded slowly. "I don't know what kind of organic structure these Quintessons have. I can't build a weapon specifically designed for their organic sub-structure. If you want a bio-weapon, all I can give you is a general one." Ratchet finally raised his helm, meeting Prowl's optics. "It will work against all organics."

Prowl held his gaze, faceplates betraying nothing. "Explain it to me, " he finally said, quietly.

Ratchet lifted the squished apricot in his hands, squeezing tightly around the fruity innards, the juices flowing and falling to the table surface. He let go, the pulpy innards dripping from his hands and leaving just the pit pressed between his red fingers. "I can isolate a compound within these organic fruits. It's the precursor to an organic poison, one that inhibits cellular respirations."

Prowl's blank optics stared back at Ratchet. Prowl wasn't a scientist, wasn't a medic. Ratchet had a detailed understanding of organic structures and of their anatomy. Prowl had a base understanding, converting what he knew of Cybertronian physiology to human forms. He knew they breathed in and out, believing their lungs to be analogous to his own ventilations and O2 lines. He knew that oxygen was essential to their systems, just as it was for Cybertronians for their engine to fire properly. Prowl understood the human's engine to be their heart, though he was entirely perplexed as to what human system was comparable to their own sparks. "Cellular respirations?"

"Organics are made up of tiny living structures called cells. They form the basis of their organic structures. Within these cells, all their life processes are conducted: ingestion of nutrients and expulsion of waste, reproduction and replication of additional organic components to replace the decaying ones, and respirations." Ratchet paused. "Respiration is the most important function. Organics cannot survive without their brains regulating the automatic respiratory functions of their entire body, from their lungs to their cells." Ratchet gestured towards Sunstreaker, lying unmoving on his makeshift med berth. "Sunstreaker can survive without ventilations longer than a human can. To us, oxygen helps fire our engines, which then moves the energon through our bodies." Prowl nodded, following Ratchet's simplistic explanations. "Our energon is essential to our systems. Our energon flow is what their respirations of oxygen are."

Prowl inhaled, nodding his head once, slowly, optics suddenly lighting up briefly in understanding. "This weapon will disrupt that process? Stop their breathing?"

Ratchet tilted his helm. "In essence, yes."

Silence reigned once more across the dark room. Prowl nodded, optics gazing far into the distance, staring into the past. Ratchet went back to sorting and rolling the mish-mash of fruity innards on the table surface.

"I don't want any of the Seekers to know what you are working on." Prowl's cold optics once again fell on Ratchet, boring deep holes into his own.

"They already know I'm building a weapon," Ratchet replied, shaking his helm. "I don't think Starscream is a biological scientist. From what I've been able to learn from talking with Skyfire, Starscream is more of an engineer, a chemical and structural engineer. Skyfire said xenobiology was his area of expertise during their expeditions."

"I don't particularly care."

Ratchet nodded, red hands finally leaving the mash of fruit and gripping the edge of the table, leaning his weight forward. "The last thing I want to have on my consciousness, in addition to this, is knowing that I gave Starscream knowledge and information to destroy organic life." He held Prowl's optics, his gaze intense.

Prowl returned the stare, never wavering. Finally, he nodded once more, quickly. "Did Wheeljack speak to you at all about the Decepticons iridium searches?"

Ratchet frowned. "No."

Prowl sighed, looking downward to the table surface, dented metal and worn edges fading across the warped surface. "I was trying to ask him what they could be so interested in iridium for. This is the second time that we know of that they were trying to isolate that ore." Prowl looked back up into Ratchet's faceplates. "Any thoughts?"

Ratchet quirked his lipplates up ironically. "I'm not a chemical engineer. You'll have to ask Starscream if you want an answer to that one out here."

Prowl arched his optic ridge at Ratchet, but didn't answer. He sighed, then spoke again, "We need to make a supply run next cycle. We only have rations enough for three more cycles. We're going to need energon, more munitions, comms equipment..." Prowl trailed off. "Do you need anything specific?"

Ratchet sighed heavily again, casting his helm around their decrepit hideout. "A working medbay?" he snapped. "I'll think of a few things," he sighed. "Where do you plan on going?"

"Starscream says he knows several less protected districts, warehouses, areas where we can break in for energon and supplies."

"Civilian areas?"

Prowl paused. "Possibly."

Ratchet didn't react, gazing downward and gripping the edge of the table harder, leaning more weight into the edge.

Prowl watched Ratchet, the medic not meeting his gaze. Finally, Prowl turned, heading towards the doorway. He stopped, not turning to face Ratchet but instead staring down at the offline and recharging form of Sunstreaker. "You did an amazing job with Sunstreaker, Ratchet."

Ratchet snorted, helm dropping between his arms as he gripped the metal table edge hard enough to leave ten perfect indentations. "It should _never_ have gotten to where it did."

"He knew what he was doing."

Ratchet didn't respond. After several astroseconds, Prowl moved on, quietly stepping through the doorframe and into the main area of their hideout.

Ratchet sighed heavily, his helm still hanging between his shoulders. He offlined his optics briefly before surging them back on. Each time he offlined them, every time, he saw Sunstreaker's limp and energon drained form, his spark weakly fluttering underneath his touch on the twin's chestplates. He could still feel the pinch of the Lambo's pistons in his fingertips, that rough and ceaseless rhythm he had pounded out, again and again, refusing to let he golden demon offline entirely despite Jazz's best attempts to dissuade him from his care.

Ratchet turned, tilting his helm sideways as he stared at Sunstreaker's recharging form. The golden twin was going to be furious when he awoke. Ratchet hadn't been gentle, not at all, with trying to keep him online. Between the pain he was certain to be in, despite the slow drip of pain sensor deadeners dripping into Sunstreaker's form, and the damage to his armor, Sunstreaker was certain to be nearly deadly when he came online.

Sunstreaker's chestplate had an unsightly scar diagonally crossing the lower right side, from just above to just under his engine. Ratchet hadn't had time to properly unlatch his plating and had to get inside his engine housing quickly. His laser torched had melted through, leaving an unsightly trail behind its burn.

Sunstreaker was going to be furious. Ratchet didn't much care. Sunstreaker was alive. His vanity could take a small hit, especially since the twin did this to himself.

Ratchet shook his head, finally stepping closer to the golden mech. Sunstreaker had thrown himself down on top of Ratchet, pushing the medic roughly to the floor and taking the EMP blast aimed for him. He still felt the rough shove, could still remember the feel of Sunstreaker sagging against him, limp and dying.

"Too slagging ready to die…" Ratchet didn't understand at all, didn't understand Sunstreaker's self-sacrificial zealotry, throwing himself headless into battle and violence, entirely uncaring for his own survival. It was one thing to protect and care for your friends, to give all of yourself to your battle partners, your family, your faction. It was quite another to go out of your way to destroy yourself needlessly, as Sunstreaker seemed wont to do.

Ratchet reached out his hand, unstained fruity fingers extended in a light caress over Sunstreaker's helm vents. Ratchet cared, deeply, for all the mechs on the Ark. Each was unique, each was wonderfully special and integral to the crew, both tactically and socially. Sunstreaker didn't seem to know how much he was actually valued on board the Ark. Prime cared deeply for the twins, both of them equally, personally checking with Ratchet each time they ended up in the med bay. Prowl also cared, in his own way, himself being the original officer that had recommended Sideswipe as squad leader. At the time, the suggestion had been nearly laughable, but Prowl insisted, and Prime relented. Vorns later, Sideswipe was the senior squad leader, tactically sound and greatly respected by both officers and enlisted – not that anyone would admit to it.

Sideswipe wasn't nearly as seemingly suicidal as Sunstreaker was. He was reckless, carelessly rushing headlong into battle and racing in where Primus himself would fear to go. But his recklessness was limited to their war, limited to the fullness of himself that he gave out on the battlefield. He wasn't personally self-destructive. Not like Sunstreaker.

What would happen to Sideswipe when one of these cycles Sunstreaker truly damaged himself? What would happen if Sunstreaker didn't return, if he offlined that cycle, underneath Ratchet's fingertips buried in his engine?

Ratchet shuddered under the thought. He shook his helm again, fingers still gently stroking Sunstreaker's helm vents. Sunstreaker had been a pain in his aft since he had come to Iacon with his brother, all those vorns ago. His petulant faceplates, angry, sulky tone, and entirely too stubborn demeanor had instantly pitted them at odds with one another, Ratchet's own less than cheerful disposition clashing violently with Sunstreaker's.

Time passed, their lives continued to roll forward, each crashing into the other's again and again in the medbay. Ratchet slowly came to know more about the violent golden twin, slowly came to see more of the intricacies of his personality. He would never understand, never fully understand Sunstreaker. But at least now he could tolerate the golden twin.

More than tolerate, if he was truthful with himself. Sunstreaker was a glitch head, a pain in the aft, a violent, unpredictable mech who cluttered up Ratchet's medbay with his continuing damage and whining insistence on accompanying his brother when Sideswipe was in the medbay. He was also the one mech who could take Ratchet's temper without flinching, stand against Ratchet's yells and shouts, calmly gazing into his optics without shrinking away. He accepted Ratchet's tirades, his ire in addition to his normal personality as none other did. Ratchet didn't kid himself; he was difficult to know, difficult to befriend, difficult to like, even. Wheeljack had stubbornly become his friend through a battle of attrition over the vorns, their working together bleeding into a sociability that turned into a likeability from both sides, though Ratchet was never overly demonstrative with his affection for his inventor friend. Wheeljack became his one friend, his one close friend through the vorns.

But even Wheeljack didn't accept Ratchet's tirades, preferring instead to slink off and escape the worse parts of Ratchet's personality. Ratchet understood; he did, though rarely it sent an uncomfortable twinge through him.

Ratchet was entirely self-sufficient. He'd existed alone for vorns, never needing, never desiring another mech to keep him company. He was happy and content on his own. No one bothered him. He had his friend, Wheeljack, and had his patients, his purpose and professional enjoyment, his work with the Autobots, his devotion to their united cause. He had the crew for sociability, being friendly and personable acquaintances with nearly all of them.

Occasionally, rarely, and only in the dark breems of the night cycle, Ratchet bemused where he had missed his chance for a partner. He was too set in his ways, too old now to compromise and unbend for a partner or for a bondmate. He couldn't remake his life over for another, to merge and rearrange his behavior patterns to accommodate another mech, not after hundreds of vorns of being who he was. He wasn't a catch, by any means, wasn't spark catching as Jazz was, or selfless and intelligent as Prowl.

Instead of pondering over his position in life, he poured his feelings into his work, caring for the mechs on the Ark in his own small means of affection. That they lived full, happy lives was enough for Ratchet's personal satisfaction. Sunstreaker stubbornly seemed to resist that one quest of Ratchet's.

Sunstreaker shifted underneath Ratchet's hand, helm twitching briefly as the golden twin moaned softly. His optics flickered, but didn't online. "…Ratchet…?" he whispered, ventilations hissing.

"I'm here, Sunny." Ratchet whispered back, fingers still stroking the yellow vents on Sunstreaker's helm.

Sunstreaker inhaled shakily, mouthplates open, helm still twitching under Ratchet's fingers. "…Stay with me…?" he breathed.

"Of course." Ratchet never left his patients.

Sunstreaker had slipped back into recharge as Ratchet removed his hand, drawing back and settling himself down next to Sunstreaker's makeshift berth and leaning backwards with a heavy sigh. He offlined his optics, slowly allowing recharge to overtake him.

* * *

Prowl slipped through the main room, quietly pausing to thank Fireflight for watching out for the Seekers before telling him to go back to recharge; Ratchet was through for the night. Fireflight had tiredly made his way back over to the wall next to Bluestreak, sliding down and curling around the young gunner. He rested his helm against Bluestreak's shoulder launchers and slid back into recharge under Prowl's gaze.

Prowl smiled, continuing onward to the secluded outer area. It was once another internal room of the housing complex, long ago, but was now so crumbled that half of it was exposed to the dark sky surrounding them, crumbling walls and destroyed ceiling partially covering the parked bouncer hidden inside.

Jazz was working underneath, his black hands buried inside the engine internals of the hovering craft and trying to replace and repair the destroyed components he had flown apart in their wild escape. The bouncer could be useful for them again, if Jazz could repair it.

Prowl dropped down, tilting his helm to gaze underneath the bouncer at Jazz. Jazz tugged against a coolant line, ruptured from within due to the boiling coolant racing through it. "How's Sunstreaker?" Jazz asked finally, not meeting Prowl's optics.

"He's going to be fine," Prowl answered back softly. "Ratchet was able to repair his conduction circuits. He'll be online in the next cycle." Prowl smirked. "If a little grumpy."

Jazz sighed, dropping his hands down to sides. "Ratchet was pretty upset with me. I though' for sure I had-"

Prowl cut Jazz off, reaching underneath the bouncer and gripping Jazz's black hand in his dirty white one. "Ratchet doesn't know what you're capable of. You did the best flying you could have in that bouncer to get us out of there. _All_ of us out of there, _alive._"

Jazz squeezed Prowl's hand back in a silent thanks.

Prowl's vocalizer shifted, dropping subtly, a different tone entering his speech. "That was some impressive flying. I haven't seen you do anything like that in a _long _time."

Jazz finally turned his helm to gaze at Prowl, lipplates quirking slightly upwards. "I'm not a pilot."

Prowl arched his optic ridges upward, smirking back at Jazz underneath the bouncer. "Are you not?" he replied teasingly, smile tugging at his lipplates.

Jazz finally grinned back slyly. "I suppose part o' me is."

Prowl tugged on Jazz's hand, still tangled in his own, drawing the Saboteur out from beneath the bouncer. As Jazz's legs came into view, Prowl stared down at the lancing burn torn across Jazz's lower leg. "When did this happen?" he asked, fingers dancing on the edge of the jagged slice.

"In the hardware docks. Shrapnel from the ceilin' collapse." Jazz shifted, pulling himself upwards as Prowl guided his hips up to lean against the bouncer, sitting him above Prowl's crouch on the ground. Prowl removed a small welder from his subspace, a portable component of his personal medikit. It wasn't able to handle anything large and was only useful for small cuts and tears in the dermal plating and armor. It would work well for this, though.

Prowl shifted Jazz's leg, propping his foot against his grey thigh as he leaned forward, setting the welder to a low heat and gently passing it across the tear, slowly sealing the wound back together. With his other hand, Prowl tenderly rubbed small circles into the armor plating of Jazz's foot, fingers twirling in the wheel wells at Jazz's ankle.

Jazz leaned his helm backwards, a soft sigh escaping his vocalizer at the tender touches.

Prowl finished his repairs quickly, subspacing the welder before leaning forward to brush a gentle kiss across the bottom of the weld. Jazz grunted softly above him. Prowl smiled into Jazz's leg, gently kissing and nuzzling his way up the welded wound, softly licking a trail across the divide between the black and white armor plating.

"The others?" Jazz huskily asked, his vocalizer low and throaty.

"Recharging," Prowl answered, lipplates moving over Jazz's kneejoint. He had a joor before he took over the watch from the Seekers. He flashed his optics to Jazz's faceplates, holding his gaze through his visor. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss into the kneejoint once more, breathing across the armor seams and cables.

Jazz smiled slowly, breaths coming quicker as he gazed down at Prowl kneeling between his legs. Prowl spoke again, softly. "You are everything that I need."

Jazz leaned down, capturing Prowl's lipplates in a gentle, lingering kiss. Prowl eagerly leaned into Jazz's lipplates, one hand reaching up to wrap around Jazz's helm as he tenderly kissed back.

* * *

Starscream shifted uncomfortably against the wall of their shelter, the blackness of space stretching above his gaze. Thundercracker sat against the opposite wall, Skywarp curled in his arms and recharging, his faceplates pressed into the blue Seeker's cockpit. Thundercracker idly stroked the purple jet's shoulder vents, blue fingers tracing the smooth lines of the his trinemate's armor.

Starscream sat apart, lipplates curling in disgust at their display as they sat together. He had turned away, gazing outward across the half-destroyed upper floor of their safehouse. Half of their floor was obliterated, the walls gone and roof mangled beyond repair. Only a partial section of the roof remained, extending outwards and sloping down, crashing to the mangled deck plating of the floor, a small sheltered space created within. The rest was open, entirely exposed to the dark blackness of space, the stars glittering downwards on their hideout.

Starscream shifted again. He couldn't get comfortable, couldn't fall into recharge. His trinemates were uncomfortably near to him and basking in their shared feelings. The stars were entirely too close, much too close for his memory's comfort. They were never so bright, never so present on Earth.

It had helped him _forget_.

It was the stars, the burning stars shining down on the bare surfaces of Cybertron and refracting into prisms across the too-huge expanses of white armor that had first torn at Starscream's spark. Had first pushed him to act. He had loved the stars then, loved the starlight dancing across the surfaces he adored, he cherished.

He then hated the stars, their mocking brightness pulling everything he ever cared for away, distorting the expanse of space and enticing their processors with dreams of exploration and adventure. Instead, they found death

And then, not death. Worse than death. Betrayal. Four million years later, when he'd thought his spark was done with feeling, was entirely through with all the emotions that had burned throughout his frame, leaving the only one powerful enough to consume his entire being, he had felt once more.

It hadn't been pleasant.

_There was an end to all this,_ he thought. There was an end, a new beginning, wrapped together with the promise of his future. Perhaps…

Starscream ruthlessly pushed that thought aside. Dreams had never helped him. Dreams and wonder had only destroyed him, teasing with their false realities of hope and imagination. Dreams had led him here, down the long, lingering path of his life to this moment, buried within the shifting pieces of his plan.

No more. Only his cold reality, his single-processor focus on his end, this end, would guide him now.

His conviction still didn't stop Starscream from gazing upwards into the oppressive starlight once more.


	14. Chapter 14

Crash Into You

Chapter 14

* * *

Prowl knelt down next to Starscream, shifting his weight to balance the grip he held on his rifle, still ready to fire. His optics darted around their small hiding area, tucked behind the edge of the complex they had flown to. Every klik, his optics flashed to Bluestreak's, also keeping watch from his position on the opposite side of their alleyway, confirming again and again their safety and lack of Decepticon visitors.

Thundercracker was crouched down next to Prowl, Skywarp across from them both and next to Starscream. Thundercracker had a datalink with Fireflight uplinked through his HUD, displaying as a holovisual for the four to see the telemetry and sketchy visuals Fireflight's sensor net transmitted down. Thundercracker and Fireflight had flown well together, communicating and transmitting data back and forth rapidly during their flight from Shockwave's compound. Fireflight had easily settled into Thundercracker's wing on their flight to the hideout, and again during their flight to the Decepticon housing complex.

Starscream's brilliant location for their team to steal and smuggle energon and supplies from was a housing complex for Decepticon soldiers stationed in Kaon, built hastily during the Great Surge, after their own untimely and unfortunate crash on Earth. It still housed the actively operating soldiers, currently all on alert and combing the cityspace of Kaon, searching for the Autobot rebels that had wreaked havoc on their compound and cityspace.

Prowl thought the idea was insane, and loudly informed Starscream that it was ridiculous; there was no place worse for their team to go than right back into a mass of Decepticons, especially after their all-too-close escape. Starscream persisted, insisting that the Decepticon tactical scenarios called for all active soldiers to be on patrol and searching for their very own selves, leaving the housing complex unprotected. "No one thinks about the personal quarters," he had sneered, lipplates twisting in smug superiority. "This is the only place where we wont be found."

It was madness, and it was another plan of Starscream's that they would be following, which Prowl had decided he would no longer tolerate, but unfortunately, the red Seeker was correct. And he knew it. It was the best place for their team to strike, to gather what they needed. Starscream presented a tactically sound, if utterly insane, plan.

The housing complex skirted the edge of the cityspace, rimming the bare edges of Cybertron similar to their own hideout. It was too far to travel by foot and the surface areas were too badly damaged, too roughly jagged as far from the cityspace centre as their hideout to drive over. They had had to fly, low and slow, spread out to avoid detection from errant sensor sweeps. Fireflight had carried Bluestreak, the grey gunner clinging to the back of the Aerialbot's wings and gripping down on the flyer's fuselage hard enough to leave grey paint flecks near where his thighs had clamped down.

Prowl had flown on Starscream's wings

Prowl hadn't missed the flash of rage from his bondmate, tight and burning, pointing directly towards Starscream when the Seeker had slowly, seductively smirked at Prowl when he heard that he would be carrying the Enforcer.

Jazz was staying behind, keeping guard on their hideout, Ratchet, and the still offline Sunstreaker, as well as continuing to work on their destroyed bouncer. Prowl had left him angrily pulling lines and making small piles of destroyed circuits, faceplates set in a fierce grimace.

"Here," Starscream said suddenly, leaning into the visual display and pointing at a fuzzy building rising from the opposite edge of the sprawlingly sparse complex. "This is the energon distribution hub. Decepticon soldiers get their energon rationed out to them every couple of cycles. It's all stored on site, centrally in this building."

"Is it guarded?" Prowl flashed his optics back to Bluestreak, receiving the standard head nod; still all clear.

"Only by the electronic surveillance systems, controlled by the main grid. Which, as we know, is still offline." Starscream smirked again, clearly pleased with his own work. He had brought down the final section of the main grid that powered Kaon, plunging the entire cityspace into an electrical void. The rest of the planet's grids were starting to weave their way across its surface, as well as from deep within the core, attempting to restore power to the wounded sector. Thus far, the cityspace was still plunged in darkness, the only illumination coming from the dead center, tiny flicks of light clearly supported by emergency generators, surrounding an overlarge complex shrouded in darkness. Prowl deeply suspected that was Shockwave's hangar.

"What about other Decepticons? One's also taking advantage of the power loss to take energon for themselves?" Prowl's optics flicked around once more, blue light shining outward and inward, illuminating the darkness for his visual sensors across the entire spectrum.  
"Any Decepticon that wasn't in their patrol position would have already been tracked down and shot by their section leaders." Starscream arched his optic ridge as Prowl's optics snapped back to his helm. "The dirty work has been done for us by now."

"What about the other supplies?" Ratchet had requested an assortment of tools, as well as base supplies that would assist his work greatly. Jazz had requested maintenance equipment, as well as additional wires and cabling, for their bouncer. On top that, they all needed higher-level communications equipment, extra munitions, weapons, and any information they could gather from their expedition.

"That's where you two come in." Starscream shifted, gesturing to his trinemates. Thundercracker turned his helm to face Starscream, optics still shimmering as they displayed the holovisual in front of their crouching circle. "Get inside their quarters. Primus knows they've got all of what we need and more." Decepticon soldiers were notorious for housing munitions inside their living spaces. Most were fascinated with mods as well, tinkering and tweaking each other for their maximum output potential. Tools would be readily available.

"Fireflight is coming with you both." Prowl shifted, locking gazes with the blue and purple Seekers. Thundercracker nodded; Skywarp frowned. "Bluestreak will stay on guard. Starscream, you and I will collect the energon."

Thundercracker and Skywarp nodded. Prowl relayed the information to Fireflight and Bluestreak, receiving positive chirps over his comm in affirmation before standing. "Let's move out."

Thundercracker's holovisual shimmered just before he transformed with his trinemate, rising slowly into the dark sky to join Fireflight still circling quietly above the complex. Prowl locked gazes with Starscream briefly as the Seeker stood, then turned and quickly moved towards Bluestreak.

"Keep at this position, Bluestreak. Keep your sensors trained on the roads and skies." Bluestreak was leaning back against the compound's inner wall, peering around the edge to scan the incoming roads for any returning Decepticons.

Bluestreak nodded. "I'll keep watch, sir. Good luck with the energon, not that you need luck, I mean, you're always –"

"Bluestreak."

Bluestreak nodded, clamping his nervous mouthplates shut. Prowl watched him turn back to watching the roads, optics shifting upwards to the sky before sweeping back downwards, again and again. He could see the brightness of Bluestreak's optics shift, highlighting the changes as he switched modes, from zoom to infrared to thermagraphics.

Starscream was waiting for Prowl back where they first crouched, standing tall and smug. He smirked as Prowl fell to the side of the building, sliding alongside the housing complex in a tactical approach towards the energon distribution centre. Starscream followed behind, not caring to conceal his or Prowl's presence.

Prowl threw a glare to Starscream. "Would you get into position?"

Starscream snorted. "I am in position. If you want to scurry around like a glitch-mouse, feel free. Accept it, Autobot. You're on my turf now. I know how to operate here better than you."

Prowl paused just briefly, enough to cast a scathing glare back towards Starscream, who smirked back to him, before continuing to advance stealthily towards the energon distribution building, darting from building to building and keeping to the edge of the central surface streets. Starscream boldly sauntered up the centre.

Prowl almost hoped that Starscream would get slagged by a Decepticon.

They made it to the distribution centre without incident, the housing complex as dead as Starscream insisted it to be. Prowl shifted backwards against the edge of the doorframe of the centre as Starscream spread his hands across the sealed doors. "The energy cut out, but the maglock didn't engage." He shifted his optics sideways to Prowl. "My little explosion caught them off guard."

Prowl snorted. Starscream's 'little explosion' had decimated the entire cityspace's electrical conduction system, possibly even damaged the core of Cybertron itself.

Starscream continued. "We can peel these apart. Grab here." He dug his blue fingers into the door seam and pulled against the heavy slides as Prowl did the same, slowly, with a great shriek of metal scraping against metal erupting from the now-open door that set Starscream's denta on edge and made Prowl grab his rifle and drop to the ground in a firing crouch.

Starscream sighed and stepped over Prowl, quickly working his way into the distribution centre, crimson optics brightening his darklight vision. Prowl followed several astroseconds later, after comming Bluestreak and Thundercracker for a brief status check.

***^***

Thundercracker pawed through the seventh mech's quarters and belongings, subspacing laser cartridges, miscellaneous tools, and bits of wiring and circuits. He took care to rearrange the belongings back in the way they were before they all entered, trying to make their theft as less blatant as possible. With luck, their victims would turn on each other, accusing their roommates of having light fingers and servos.

Skywarp was less considerate, scraping through drawers and dumping shelves. Thundercracker tried to shuffle behind, attempting to right what Skywarp carelessly tossed aside. "'Warp!" Would you please try to not get us caught?"

Skywarp shot Thundercracker a silent glare as he subspaced extra rocket shells, not exactly the type for Bluestreak or Prowl, but ones that could work with a few modifications. "They're going to notice their stuff is missing," he hissed back.

"But they done need to know we were here!" Thundercracker shook his helm as he crossed the hall to the next set of quarters. Fireflight was inside, collecting micro tools one by one, lifting each little instrument to his cupped hand before going to the next. Thundercracker walked next to the young flyer, roughly scrapping the pile of laser cartridges next to Fireflight from the desk, across the surface, and into his waiting hand, casting a pointed stare downwards to the Aerialbot as he did so.

Fireflight inhaled sharply, catching Thundercracker's optics briefly. "They might break if I do that," he breathed. "Ratchet wouldn't be happy."

Thundercracker snorted, moving away from the young flyer and catching sight of the extra laser rifle housings resting against the far wall. He grabbed the three spares, empty of their laser cores but seemingly operable as he clicked through the initialization interface.

"Vector Sigma…" Thundercracker turned, hearing Skywarp's soft exclamation from another set of quarters further down the hallway. He quickly strode towards his trinemate, Fireflight following right behind.

Skywarp turned grinning faceplates to Thundercracker as the blue Seeker stopped in the doorframe. "I win," he said, arms throwing wide the storage locker doors to reveal an unholy amount of electrical explosive putty, fully wired with conduction firing pins and only needing a circuit chase to close their sequence.

Thundercracker smiled back, tilting his helm slightly. "What's with the young soldiers these days?" he stepped forward, grin widening as he took in the full amount of explosive power they now beheld.

Fireflight followed, craning his neck collum around Thundercracker's wing, slight frown marring his faceplates. "Huh," he said, small grunt no more excited than if he saw his name signed up for a triple shift at comms duty.

Skywarp looked sideways at the Aerialbot, already moving away to scavenge for more equipment. They still needed to find communications supplies. "Does he even know what this is?" he whispered to Thundercracker.

Thundercracker looked after the departing red and white flyer. He shook his head, small smile still on his faceplates, but lacking the mirth of Skywarp's twisted grin. "I haven't got a clue." He reached for the first cube of explosives. "Lets get this loaded."

***^***

Prowl scanned his optics across the mass of energon cubes stacked against the far wall of the inner chamber. There was easily enough there for their needs.

"I can carry nearly all of what we'll need in my alt mode," Starscream stood next to Prowl, watching as the Enforcer calculated out the energon needed for their cycles in hiding.

Prowl nodded. "Transform. I'll load it into you."

Starscream smirked wickedly. "Much as I would enjoy that Prowl, I'm going to have to say no."

Prowl whipped his helm to Starscream, optics shining as he glared at the Seeker. "What?" he hissed.

"We need to make another stop."

Prowl frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I need to get to my lab."

"Your lab?" Prowl stared at Starscream, incredulous. "That wouldn't be deep in Decepticon territory, would it?"

"But of course. I am a Decepticon, after all." Starscream's tone was silky smooth, scratchy edges covered in a lull of condescension.

"What the slag is in your lab?" Prowl held his ground at Starscream stepped closer, closer to his chassis, optics shining crimson in counterpart to his own indigo, the only illumination in their dark isolation.

"Things. Important things. Things we will need."

"What. Things." Prowl's tone hardened, refusing to back down as Starscream was nearly on top of him, electrical fields arcing against each other around their frames, slight crackles echoing around the empty chamber.

Starscream lipplates stretched across his faceplates in a slow, deadly smirk. "Don't you trust me?" The words twisted on his glossa, spitting out in a mockery. He reached out, blue fingers spread, reaching for Prowl's black forearm.

Prowl violently struck out with the butt end of his rifle, catching Starscream across the helm and scratching through the dermal plating on his cheekarch. Starscream reeled back, shocked gasp escaping his vocalizer as the crack of the impact reverberated throughout their room. His hand reached to stroke his scratched faceplates, blue hand coming away stained a faint glowing purple, the capillary energon clusters broken.

"Don't ever come that close to me again." Prowl's vocalizer, just as his firing pose, was deadly, cold, ready to strike, to destroy. He held his rifle level at Starscream, aiming straight for the red Seeker's spark chamber. "Transform. Now."

Starscream's ventilations hitched, optics flashing overbright. He gazed downwards at his energon stained fingertips again, before slowly nodding once, mouthplates twisted in an openplated half smile, denta shining and exposed. He transformed slowly.

Prowl held his aim on Starscream's alt form for a long moment until Starscream's cockpit retracted with a hiss. He moved quickly to the wall, grabbing shrunken energon cubes and slowly moving to load them in Starscream's alt form.

It wasn't until he was right next to the jet that he felt the heat waves rolling off of Starscream, and heard the rumble of the Seeker's idling engine.

***^***

The flight back to their hideout was tense and uncomfortable. Starscream was overfull of energon cubes, snapping at Thundercracker to carry Prowl for their flight back. Bluestreak clung to Fireflight again, flying on Thundercracker's wing, as the blue Seeker jostled his purple trinemate teasingly about the explosive putty he carried in his subspace. Bluestreak nervously glanced between the two jets before chiming in, hesitatingly asking if the purple jet was truly in danger of spontaneously blowing up. Starscream and Prowl snapped as one, both angrily instructing them to keep quiet on their flight.

Thundercracker and Skywarp transformed first when they got back, Fireflight waiting until Bluestreak had climbed off his frame onto somewhat shaking legs. Prowl was quicker to climb off of Thundercracker, moving inside their hideout immediately. The two Seekers quickly began pulling their acquired equipment out from their subspace, settling it all down in the center of their shelter's main room. Ratchet and Jazz both emerged from the back medical area, watching the two unload with arched optic ridges.

Prowl immediately went to Jazz's side, faceplates scowling. Jazz frowned, reaching out to his bondmate both physically and across their bond. He felt Prowl's walls drop, felt a sigh across his spark as Prowl sagged his bond mentally against Jazz's own. Prowl himself stood in front of Jazz, asking tersely, "Any contact while we were gone?"

Jazz shook his helm tightly, stroking back across their bond gently, questioningly. "None."

Starscream snapped viciously from outside their hideout, still in his alt mode. "Would you two idiots get out here and help me!"

Thundercracker and Skywarp started, then quickly moved out to their trinemate, Bluestreak following. Fireflight flattened himself against their crumbling doorarch as the three passed by him before crossing to Ratchet and gently uncupping his hands to reveal a complete set of microtools, as requested.

Prowl stiffened at the sound of Starscream's vocalizer, Jazz noticing immediately. He frowned, physically reaching out for Prowl before the Enforcer turned away, moving to the centre of the room and their accumulated gear dump. Jazz followed, crouching down to sort through the communications beacons that Fireflight had finally found, remaining glued to Prowl's sideplating and holding onto him through their bond.

The Seekers all walked back in, each carrying an armload of energon cubes. Bluestreak followed nervously, optics darting towards the raging form of Starscream, catching on the bruise marring his faceplates.

Starscream crossed the room to stand directly in front of Prowl, entirely too close to the Enforcer. "We're back now, and we've dropped off the supplies as you instructed. Now we will go to my lab!"

Prowl stiffened. "You still haven't told me what's so important about getting to your lab, as well as risking our discovery here by traveling straight back into Decepticon territory."

Starscream heaved a heavy sigh. "Do I need to spell it out for you? My lab is hardwired into the Decepticon interlink. When the interlink goes down, each computer houses a flash of the entirety of the network in their memory. We can use that to find the Decepticon intelligence on the Autobot Resistance, try to find where they've hidden these missing components!" Shockwave's last message to Megatron had been frantic, the old text scrawling across the screen as Starscream had argued with Jazz just before their bold escape from Shockwave's inner laboratory. The Autobot Resistance had taken something, something from the Decepticon construction plans, something that Shockwave was dearly missing.

"We can search for the Resistance with our own comms beacons, now that we have them." Prowl gestured downwards, where Jazz was still sorting through beacons, transmitters and receivers.

"Fool!" Starscream seethed. "We cannot pass this opportunity up! You are throwing away vital information that we need!"

"It's too great a risk!" Prowl's control was slipping, anger shaking through his tone as he faced down Starscream, front bumper near scraping across Starscream's golden cockpit. "You want us to go deep into Decepticon territory, to your lab, on a potentiality. You have been banished from the Decepticons. What makes you think your lab is still online? Still active?"

"I work on things of far too great an importance to be merely shut down," Starscream hissed back, optics narrowing to slits.

"Its not happening, Starscream. We can attempt to contact the Resistance here, then formulate a reconnaissance plan without risking what you are asking."

Starscream lunged, angry snarl erupting from his vocalizer as he swung at Prowl, raising his null ray to Prowl's spark chamber.

Prowl slammed his arms out, catching Starscream's shoulder vents before Starscream completed his aim. He tried to throw the red Seeker sideways, send him crashing to the ground, but Starscream reached up, clinging hard to Prowl's forearms, dragging the Enforcer closer until their frames scratched against the other's.

Jazz leapt up, grabbing his rifle and pointing it directly at Starscream as he jumped to Prowl's side. Thundercracker and Skywarp, done offloading the energon cubes and watching the display in front of them, raised their own arm rays at Prowl and Jazz. Bluestreak grabbed his rifle, pointing it first at Thundercracker, then Skywarp, optics darting from Starscream to the other two Seekers.

Fireflight stood openmouthplated next to Ratchet, who tried to bellow out for the lot of them to cool their turbines. Not one mech listened.

Starscream hissed, pulling Prowl closer to him and grinding his chassis deeper into the Enforcer's own. "Remind you of anything else we did, Prowl?"

Jazz's jaw clenched, cables and gears audibly screeching as his laser rifle charged, whining in the silent room, preparing to fire. Thundercracker and Skywarp charged their own rays moments later, whining in opposition to Jazz's own. Ratchet charged out into the room, trying to physically pull Skywarp's arm down as he shouted again for them to quit. Skywarp roughly brushed the medic back, earning Bluestreak's solid glare and firm aim.

Prowl kept his optics locked on Starscream's, gripping down tightly on the Seeker's shoulder vents, painfully. He twisted, trying to bear the other to the ground, to force Starscream down in submission, to grapple him to silence.

"What the frag is going on here?" Sunstreaker, haggard, weak, and leaning heavily against the half-standing doorarch leading from the med area, propped his rifle up, using his other hand to steady his grip. He trained his optics on Thundercracker, aiming straight for the blue jet's spark chamber.

The distraction was enough to startle half the mechs. Ratchet immediately cursed, rushing back to the golden twin and hooking his arm around Sunstreaker's waist, helping to support him before he fell to the ground. Bluestreak swallowed, shifting his optics from Skywarp to Ratchet and Sunstreaker, still not letting up on his aim. Jazz flicked his glance over once, for half an astrosecond, before driving forward next to Prowl and pressing the end of his rifle to the side of Starscream's helm.

Skywarp gasped, stepping forward with Thundercracker and charging his rays once more.

Prowl abruptly let go, off-balancing the red Seeker who had shifted his wide, sneering optics to stare into Jazz's own. Starscream stumbled backwards, arms flailing as he let go of Prowl and tried to steady himself. Prowl turned, facing Jazz and bodily moving his bondmate away from Starscream, frames scrapping against each other again and again. Prowl placed his hand on Jazz's rifle and forcefully pushed it down.  
Jazz glared at Prowl. The Enforcer leaned forward, holding Jazz's gaze and shaking his helm slowly.

Thundercracker and Skywarp rushed to their trinemate's side. Skywarp reached out to steady Starscream, purple hands grazing across wings and red armor. Starscream shook him off, optics still locked on Prowl. Thundercracker shook his head, jaw cables tight, at Skywarp's hurt frown.

"Prowl."

"No, Starscream."

Starscream stared at Prowl backplating, at his doorwings, before stepping slowly forward. "I can build us signal dampeners. Mask our presence entirely. I can augment our communications array, boosting our signals and our reception. I can get us a glimpse deep into the Decepticon computer system. And you won't take the opportunity."

Safely across the room from Starscream, Prowl turned. "It's not worth the risk. As soon as the computers in your lab activate, they'll know you are there. They will come to terminate you, and whoever is with you. You are not a 'Decepticon' anymore, Starscream. You battled your way out of Shockwave's lab with us. You killed other Decepticons. You are working with us, now; Autobots. You are a traitor to your own cause."

Starscream waved his hand dismissively. It wasn't the first Decepticon he'd killed, nor would it be the last. He was also known for being a traitor, well known. "He can get the computer online without anymech knowing."

Starscream pointed directly at Jazz, still standing next to Prowl and frowning heavily. "What?"

"Didn't you hack into the Nemesis without the computer noticing you were even there? I could have alerted the mainframe while you were digging through our files, could have sent a reverse pulse back across your uplink, but I didn't." Starscream sneered, crossing he arms across his chest plating. "Do you deny that you could breach a Decepticon computer's hardware?"

Jazz shook his helm. "I can get inside yer systems. I've done it easily enough before."

Starscream turned back to Prowl, now looking sideways at Jazz. "We can get in without being noticed, without being caught. Or do you doubt your bondmate?"

Prowl glared at Starscream, but said nothing.

"With the signals dampeners I can build, we can move around undetected. With the comms arrays, I can boost our signal back to Iacon, where your precious Autobot Resistance was last hiding. We can get those missing components back from them, and get back to our mission!" Starscream tilted his helm, vocalizer hissing. "Or do you want us to fail?"

"What's really in yer lab, Starscream?" Jazz's tone was hard, vocalizer demanding. "Why are ya in such a rush to get there?"

Starscream started, optics darting to Jazz's visor. "The longer we remain here, the more time we spend not finishing our real mission," he began slowly. "Megatron and the Quintessons are still out there. We don't have time to be sitting on our afts here!"" Starscream finished his tirade as his vocalizer rose, screeching loudly.

Prowl stared hard at Starscream. He sent a questioning tendril across his bond to Jazz, confusion, rage and hatred coiled around his thoughts. ::I don't know what to do, Jazz..::

Jazz glared back at Starscream next to Prowl, never removing his gaze from the Seeker, though he responded to Prowl. ::I hate t' say it, but I think he's right. We can't waste time here withou' taking some risks. We could definitely use what he's suggestin' he can build:: Jazz's tanks churned as he continued to stare at the Seekers, smirk gracing Starscream's lipplates as he watched the silent forms of Prowl and Jazz, knowing they were communicating over their bond. ::I don't trust 'im though.::

::Neither do I. Heading back into the Decepticon stronghold is too dangerous for us though. We'll get caught.::

::It's my job t' go places where I'm not wanted, and t' not get caught.::

Prowl turned to Jazz fully, finally breaking his gaze on Starscream. Fear sharply rose within him, cresting and traveling across their bond. ::It's too dangerous:: he repeated.

::Prowl, ah'm the only one that can get us there and get inside th' network.:: Jazz turned his helm to capture Prowl's optics, staring down into his visor sharply.

Prowl searched Jazz's faceplates, fear and anger rolling inside him. He knew Starscream was right, was correct, as much as hated the thought. He knew that Jazz was the best mech for the job, knew that Jazz was the only one that could in fact pull this off successfully. He knew all of this, yet none of his knowledge stopped his pounding spark from wanting to physically separate Jazz from Starscream, to keep Jazz away from the destructive presence of the Seeker, to keep Jazz safe.

Prowl sighed, his coursing emotions broadcast fully for Jazz to feel. Jazz sent a wave of determination, of love, of steely resolve back across to Prowl, still locking optics with the Enforcer.

It made Prowl realize, again, just how much he truly depended on Jazz. Jazz was the counterpoint to his own thoughts, the half of himself that he needed, relied on, loved. It had been that way for as long as he could remember; their bond only augmented that, emotions now shared across their bond effortlessly and wordlessly, each able to now be everything the other needed. Whether they knew they needed it or not.

He couldn't lose that. Lose this, with Jazz. Not when he had just found it, found the half of himself he hadn't known he was missing.

::You'd better be careful:: He sent a wave of too strong emotion, pouring his fear, anger and cherished love into the bond before turning back to Starscream.

"You and Jazz will go to your lab." Prowl advanced slowly on the Seeker, holding his optics until they were in the exact same spot they had initially stood, chassis to chassis, before grappling each other roughly. He spoke slowly, low and even. "If you do anything, anything, to compromise the two of you, or this mission, I will tear you slowly apart, limb from limb, into scrap metal and junk circuits. Do you understand?" Prowl burned, radiated his iron conviction and the rage behind his words down to Starscream.

Starscream's optics brightened, rushes cascading through his system at the power emanating off of Prowl as Thundercracker's faceplates twisted in disgust. "I understand," he purred, helm titling slightly as he turned to face Jazz.

***^***

Red Alert sighed as he slowly offlined the last of the camera monitors, activating the security program in Teletraan 1 to guard the Ark in their absence. A full spectrum of proximity alarms, sensor sweeps, thermagraphic and organo-chemcial scans would protect the exterior and interior of the Ark while the Autobots were on the far side of the world.

If Red Alert hadn't constructed the program himself, he would have been highly suspicious of it. However, he had built enough triple secure encryption into his program that even he couldn't breach his creation in an all out attack hack. He was quite pleased with himself for its construction.

Red Alert watched Wheeljack walk down the Ark hallway to the Command Deck on the last remaining camera. He was lugging two gear bags, the last of the medbay equipment he'd need to bring with him. The rest of the equipment had already been transported over with First Aid and Hoist, or was loaded in the flatbed crates already transported to the Air Force base.

The Command Deck doors slid open, overly loud in the empty Ark. Wheeljack strode in, seeing Red Alert watching Wheeljack watching Red Alert before he offlined the last camera and powered down the monitor bank. "Ready?" he called out, vocalizer echoing oddly.

Red Alert nodded, turning to Wheeljack and set the last initialization on the security program. "I'm ready." He crossed the deck to join Wheeljack, glancing around one last time across the cavernous empty room before slipping out and maglocking the door, Wheeljack at his side.

They were the last two mechs to leave the Ark. The rest of the Autobots had already been transported halfway around the world, joining the Air Force on their routine transports to and from the Afghanistan bases, taking care to not arouse any Decepticon suspicions, in case the Decepticons were monitoring the US Army's movements and activities. Prime felt they had a slight upper hand at the moment against the Decepticons, with Starscream; he certainly didn't want to blow that advantage with careless planning.

The rest of the Autobots had already set up a new temporary base, deep in the mountainous wilderness of Afghanistan, near a cluster of Forward Operating Bases of the Army's. From the chatter coming back across the commlinks, Sideswipe, Huffer, Mirage, and Tracks were in agony, constantly stymied by the dust, dirt, and weather. Cliffjumper and the Protectobots were as happy as sparklings, Cliffjumper enjoying the wild terrain and the Protectobots relishing the opportunity to work closely with the humans, both working to protect and defend as one.

Red Alert had chuckled through each of the comms back to the Ark, friends passing on information and bemoaning their new base to the mechs still waiting on the Ark for transport. He had made several alterations to his sensor net, allowing for variations in the climate to pass through without sending his systems into high overdrive.

He had also spent nearly every cycle on the commlink with Prime, working on first the logistics around transporting their army to the far side of the world, then setting up their base once more. In addition, Red Alert had quietly been analyzing the battle plan first presented by Prowl and refined and expanded by Prime.

He was entirely unnerved by the inordinate amount of trust placed on Starscream.

Red Alert turned as he and Wheeljack exited the Ark. He sent the final signal in to Teletraan 1, confirming the exterior security procedures as the Ark initiated its lockdown. The blast doors squeaked shut, mag sealing and airlocking themselves entirely, shutting the world out from the Ark's hollow insides.

Red Alert turned to Wheeljack, still silent next to him. "Ready to go? Our transport lifts off in 5 joors."

Wheeljack nodded, passing one of the gear bags across to Red Alert. "Here. I need you to transport this one for me."

Red Alert nodded, holding it tight as he transformed, settling the gear bag inside his interior as Wheeljack did the same. Their engines revved, gunning slightly in tandem before they both slowly drove away from the Ark.

Red Alert was watching the Ark fade away behind him when he heard Wheeljack's voice crackle over the comm. "Feel's strange, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Wheeljack sighed. "I hope we see the Ark again. I hadn't realized how attached to it I had become… until we had to leave."

Red Alert revved his engine several times. "Do you think we wont make it back?"

Wheeljack was silent for several breems. "I don't know, Red. This whole thing seems so strange. Prowl and Jazz, off with Starscream… Now we're going to the other side of the planet…" Wheeljack sighed heavily, static coursing across their commlink. "I just wish Ratchet were here."

Red Alert was silent, thinking over Wheeljack's words. In truth, he didn't know if they would make it back either. There were far too many unknown variables, unknown possibilities too chaotic to predict within their plan. Their goals were simple: destroy the Decepticons, wherever they be. All intelligence pointed to the Decepticons massing in Central Asia, supporting Starscream's information. If that was truly the case, if the Decepticons were truly attacking their human allies in such a locale, then the Autobots duty was to be right there, defending and protecting the humans, as well as destroying the Decepticons. If that was truly the case.

Prowl himself had entered the dark and empty Nemesis, devoid of Decepticon activity with Starscream, transmitting back to the Ark a brief summary of their stolen intelligence before finally cutting their transmission before jumping to Cybertron across the spacebridge. Unfortunately, the data burst Prowl had sent hadn't included the information on the dampening field. Skyfire and the Army engineers were still working on that blasted piece of technology. Still, a dark and empty Nemesis, Prowl hacking the Decepticon network with Starscream – it all seemed to support this reality of Starscream's presentation.

Red Alert sighed, processor whirring again backwards and over and through their situation. He thought back to Wheeljack's last comment. "You're a good medic as well."

Wheeljack grunted. "I'm good. But I'm not great. He's great." Wheeljack missed Ratchet. He knew he would, knew he'd miss his friend as soon as Ratchet said he was heading off with Prowl and their team on their too-sketchy mission to Cybertron. He didn't think he'd miss him this much though; Wheeljack had spent several breems talking to himself in the medbay, as if holding a one-sided conversation with the cross medic himself. He missed Ratchet.

Wheeljack hoped Ratchet was alright. He remembered the medic's tired faceplates, the resigned look in his optics when he'd told Wheeljack that he'd had every confidence in First Aid and him as replacement medics. Wheeljack didn't have that confidence, didn't have that sure feeling in his abilities. He was only helpful when Ratchet was around. The two worked together in harmony. All on his own, Wheeljack was a lost and wide-optic'd bumbling mech. He'd already misplaced the spanners three times, just in the time it took to pack the medbay for transport.

He wondered how Sunstreaker was doing as well. That had been quite a shock, catching Sunstreaker's reaction and subsequent feelings for the medic. He didn't know what had possessed him to chase down the golden twin, to offer him advice and then to tell him of Ratchet's plan to accompany Prowl. Sunstreaker's forcing his way onto the strike team had made the rounds of the Ark gossip mill by mid-cycle after they had left, until Fireflight's escape trumped Sunstreaker's.

Still, if there were two mechs who were stubborn enough, willful enough, temperamental enough, for each other, it would have to be Sunstreaker and Ratchet. It was insanity, the thought of the two of them together. Their arguments were legendary, their tempers flaring again and again. It would be disastrous, their coming together, Wheeljack was near certain. The Ark could never survive their arguments.  
Or, it could be exactly what the other needed. Ratchet was stubborn, willful, temper near as bad as Sunstreaker's angry ire. If one mech could take him, it would be Sunstreaker.

It was a clash of the titans, an unmovable object meeting an unstoppable force. Wheeljack wondered what would happen when Sunstreaker finally slipped, letting his feelings finally emerge for the medic. He had truly already done so; his motivations for forcing his way on the team whirled through the Ark, gossip flying as the mechs questioned his rational. They ranged from the gruesome – he was out for Seeker energon, determined to finally destroy the trine once and for all – to the ridiculous – Sunstreaker was in love with Prowl. Sideswipe kept his mouthplates shut, refusing to indulge the mechs in speculation, though Wheeljack and he both knew the truth.

Red Alert reflected again on Wheeljack's last comment. He thought back to the times he'd very reluctantly been in the medbay, to when Wheeljack's cheerful disposition, his happy chirps and flashing audials had helped ease his extraordinary stress and frustration at being back in the medical bay. Ratchet didn't waste time with Red Alert's paranoia; he knew what treatment Red Alert needed, and he was determined to get it seen to as fast as possible, Red Alert's uneasiness about the situation be slagged. Wheeljack had taken the time to explain things to Red Alert, happily flashing away as he worked.

"I think you're pretty great." Red Alert flashed his taillights to Wheeljack, trailing behind him slightly.

Wheeljack flashed his headlights back to Red Alert, long and brilliant. "Thanks, Red," he said after a moment. Wheeljack pulled up alongside Red Alert, driving side by side the rest of the trip in silence.

***^***

Jazz and Starscream slipped through the dark alleyway near the centre of Kaon's cityspace. Despite Starscream's earlier reluctance and sheer terror, the Seeker had suggested traversing through the upper sections of the main grid to travel back into Kaon proper. They didn't drop down nearly as far as Jazz had, piloting the bouncer near they black depths that had nothing to do with an offline grid.

Jazz had pulled out a few of his dirtier tricks he had picked up in his Special Operations career, earning him strong glowers from Ratchet and Prowl both. Ratchet hated seeing Jazz's own handiwork on his systems; Jazz was no medi-mech. His mods were dirty, simple, effective, and not entirely safe.

"You realize you're depressing your systems artificially?" Ratchet had growled as Jazz manipulated his internals to lower his energy field, his engine torque, his horsepower to minimal operating ranges. "Your systems aren't designed to operate at those levels for extended periods of time. You're straining your engine."

Jazz smiled tightly to Ratchet. "I've been doin' this for vorns. Haven't had a problem yet!" He felt Prowl's glare on him, even though his bondmate was behind him.

::Things are a bit different now, wouldn't you say?::

Jazz turned to look over his shoulder, smiling lopsided at Prowl. "It'll be alrigh', Prowler." Prowl had sighed gruffly.

Starscream submitted to the same alterations after only a breems worth of fussing. He refused to let Jazz touch his systems, sneering away and snapping the first time Jazz tried to approach him with the spanner. Jazz had shrugged and thrown it at his helm, telling the Seeker to do it himself if he wanted to go to Kaon so badly.

Starscream had, unfortunately for Jazz, caught the spanner in front of his face, lipplates curled upwards in disgust. In the end, Thundercracker helped Starscream alter his internals.

Their systems were operating at thresholds so low that they'd blend into the background energy readings of the cityspace. Against the cityspace proper, and against the individual sensors on each Decepticon soldier, their energy readings would fade into the ebbing flow of Kaon. It wasn't without cost though. Their transformations took longer, much longer. Their alt mode speed was drastically decreased, cutting down Starscream flight speed to bare thrusters. Jazz barely managed an Earth speed of 30 miles per hour. "Stealth over speed," Jazz had said to Ratchet's arched optic ridge.

Starscream's lab was situated far from Shockwave's own, outside the compound and near the outer edge of the city centre, very near to the entrance gates. "Shockwave does not trust me," Starscream said at Jazz's questioning chirp as they bypassed the compound underground, swinging wide to avoid any chance encounter with their previous escape route.

Jazz snorted back, holding on to Starscream's wings just as Prowl had, riding on the back of the slow moving Seeker. "Wonder why…" he mused.

"Funny, Autobot. You are working with me now."

"I don't trust you either. And you are working with us." Jazz gripped tighter as Starscream bucked, dodging an air vent from the grid's internals. He hissed underneath Jazz's grip, then fell silent as the two reached the access junction to the side alley behind Starscream's lab.  
The surface streets were dark, power still offline to the outer edges of the cityspace, though beginning to flicker on throughout Shockwave's compound. Decepticon soldier's patrolled the main strips, sensors sweeping over and around their grid's as Seekers screamed overhead, searchlights shining down into the darkness.

Jazz and Starscream flattened themselves against the side of the building, Jazz shifting to a crouch and drawing behind an air vent as Starscream squeezed into a doorframe just before a Seeker's searching light plunged down into their alleyway. They held their vents as a hover carrier pulled to a stop at the main intersection just beyond the lab. Heavy footfalls signaling more Decepticon soldiers emptying into the streets sounded, laser rifles whining to full charge.

Jazz boosted his audial's to full power, straining to hear the conversations from his hidden position down the alleyway, motioning for Starscream to stay silent and hidden. The Seeker nodded, powering down his optics to a dim crimson, slowing his vents and decreasing his energy field even more.

"Get back!" A rough sounding voice called out from the street. "The Commander is coming through!"

Jazz heard the unmistakable buzzing of a bouncer, zipping in at near sonic speeds from the wilderness area over the main grid. He head the gates to Kaon open, felt the vibrations of the bouncer near, then slow as it passed through.

"Sir!" The rough-voiced Decepticon called out to the passing bouncer.

The bouncer slowed, crawling along past the alleyway, and the Decepticon addressing the occupant. Jazz stilled, forcing his internals to freeze, to entirely halt their electrical conduction, shutting his engine off entirely and halting the flow of energon through his frame as the two started conversing at the entrance to their hiding point.

Blitzwing shifted on the flatbed of the bouncer. He had just been uncomfortably rescued from the wilderness areas, the uncontrolled and undeveloped openings in the planet's surface where the grid was exposed, climbing and arching wildly through and above the bare surfaces. He had only been located after he had spent a painful half cycle climbing from near the core of Cybertron to a far-away access junction where the rescue crews could reach him. The flyers that had collected his battered self hadn't been able to carry his tank alt form, forcing him to painfully transform to his root mode before they could extract him. The medic on the bouncer had immediately set to work on his systems, though Blitzwing refused any pain sensor deadeners. He had work to do.

"Have we found them yet?" he growled.

"No, Commander." The rough-voiced Decepticon answered back. "Though we have secured the hanger entirely. We've also started repairs to the communications tether already. They should be repaired by the end of the orn."

Blitzwing nodded. "And the main grid?"

A short pause. "Our construction bots are trying to assist Cybertron's own internal repairs, but they haven't been able to properly uplink with the core."

Blitzwing snarled. "The grid must come back online. Immediately!"

"Yes, sir!"

Blitzwing snapped to the pilot of the bouncer to move on just before the bouncer's engines roared to life again, speeding away down the main roads and back towards the compound. Jazz heard the rough-voiced Decepticon move away from the alley entrance, heard him start to converse with another soldier before he unfroze his systems.

"The Resistance is getting bold if they're trying two attacks in one cycle," the second soldier said, tones much younger and smoother. "First attacking the spacebridge, then the comms tether to Megatron?"

"Bold? I think not." The rough-voiced Decepticon chuckled. "More like desperate."

The rest of the conversation faded away from Jazz's audible range as the two moved off. He waited 10 astroseconds, vents normalizing and cycling lowly, before he slowly moved back from his hiding spot behind the air vent.

As he cautiously stepped out, motioning for Starscream to preceded him across the alleyway and to the back doorframe of Starscream's own lab, Jazz felt a lancing pain tear through his chest, a sharp stabbing directly to his spark. He gasped in pain, black hand reaching up to press against his chestplating as he staggered backwards, other hand reaching to steady himself and inadvertently pinging off the metal building frame.

"What was that?" A foot soldier shone his light down the alleyway. Starscream's optics widened at Jazz, faceplates twisted in shock and anger. He pressed himself as far as he could into the doorframe of his lab, the frame not nearly as large or deep enough to conceal him entirely.

Jazz flew backwards, trying to melt into the metal walls of the opposite building again. He would wiggle back behind the air vent if he could, if only the pain in his chest would stop. He shuddered, vents cycling slowly and shaking under the demand for more oxygen.

Footsteps slowly sounded down the alleyway, the searchlight preceding the echoing, hollow footfalls. A laser rifle whined, charging to fire. Starscream's crimson optics brightened, staring into Jazz's own, hard, burning through the darkness though still invisible to the approaching soldiers from this angle.

"Contact in Sector 17!" The electronic crackle of a personal comm sounded out from the alleyway, erupting from the Decepticon soldier slowly approaching their position. He cursed, grabbing for the volume control and whirling as an explosion blasted through the dark sky on the opposite side of the cityspace, orange and red flames arching high amidst the shrieking blue sparks of exploding, superheated metal.

"Let's go!" Another voice shouted from the entrance to the alleyway. The Decepticon soldier, mere footsteps from their location, turned, racing back down to join the others, forming attack positions and redeploying across the cityspace against this new attack.

Jazz heaved a great, gasping ventilation, dragging air mercilessly through his O2 lines as he sank to his knees, supporting himself from falling forward with one hand. Starscream hissed out to him from his hiding space. "Are you insane! Have you lost your processor!"

Jazz straightened, dragging another deep ventilation into his internals. The pain receded, fading from his chest with the increased oxygen, firing his engine faster, pumping the energon throughout his frame again. He staggered to Starscream's side, trying to dash stealthily across the alleyway, turning his helm quickly to glance down the darkness to see the Decepticons turning away, moving off to a different sector of the cityspace.

"Your Autobot friends have exceptional timing," Starscream hissed again as Jazz leaned against the door frame with the red jet. "Unlike you. What the slag was that?"

"I just need t' catch my vents. Ah'm fine."

Starscream glared sharply at Jazz. "You almost got us both fraggeed."

"Ah'm fine." Jazz glared back into Starscream's optics.

Starscream grunted, then turned to the doorframe. "None of the maglocks onlined when the grid went down. The security systems weren't engaged."

Jazz nodded, sliding his hands along the door seam before activating the magnetic resonators in his palms, their activation securing his hands fully to one panel of the metal door. He grunted, pulling sideways with his bodyweight, sliding the doorpanel open slightly enough for Starscream to slip through. Jazz deactivated the mags in his palms as Starscream held the door panel open for him, then slid through after the Seeker.

The door slid shut quietly, hissing back into its sealed closure. Starscream tilted his helm towards Jazz, red optics lighting up the internal chamber of Starscream's lab. "Thanks for not fragging that one up," he snapped, then turned and led Jazz deeper into his dark lab space.

Jazz followed Starscream down a short hallway, turning right at a t-intersection before crossing into a wide chamber, lined with computer terminals and dominated by an elaborate experimentation table. The surface was stacked with data pads, pieces of machinery and tools arranged in neat order. The lab was a complete counterpoint to the disarray of Wheeljack's.

Starscream frowned at the ordered table. "Shockwave has been in here." After their reanimation on Earth, Starscream had pushed for his lab on Cybertron to be reinstated, rebuilt. Megatron had finally relented, against the protestations of Shockwave. Starscream thought he would be able to traverse back and forth across the space bridge more readily than he had over the Earth years. Most of his scientific pursuits were limited to his resources on the Nemesis, though he was able to uplink to his lab computers and Cybertron's networks through the communications tether to Earth.

Jazz moved to the central computer terminal, dropping down and unhooking the protective casing from the metal housing and exposing the computer internals within. He peered into the offline and uncharged insides, optics shining soft blue across the hardware.

"Here." He pointed to an uplink portal buried behind the mainframe strut. "I can jack in there."

Starscream knelt down next to Jazz, peering into the dark internals of his lab computer. He nodded, then pulled a portable generator from his subspace. The lab computers were connected to the main grid, which was still entirely offline. No power flowed to their conductors; the computers were useless in this state.

They would need to artificially power the computers hard drive to get into the mainframe, then hope that the memory banks had captured the data across the Decepticon network when the power was cut. Each computer system was supposed to mirror the data across the entire network, a failsafe in case the network were to crash entirely; no Decepticon would be left without a battle strategy or a means to attack. No Decepticon would be left blind.

Jazz pulled his own cable from his forearm, winding it out and weaving it through the internals to the mainframe strut, plugging it into the uplink portal. He then took the portable generator cable and plugged it into the emergency power access port, near the base of the front housing, keeping the power flow off.

Starscream stepped back.

Jazz inhaled once, then slowly started flowing a low current of power through the generator, letting it creep across the cable and enter the power port softly. He only wanted enough power to cross the threshold to boot up the activation sequence, enough for him to start altering code at the first activation level, before the advanced programming kicked in. He had to control the flow of electrons, the power pulsing into the lab computer, down to the minute, trace level.

Jazz pushed through the activation code, winding around until he found the activation lines for the network. He deactivated those, isolating the mainframe from the Decepticon interlink. He then searched through for the security systems, the intruder alarms, the activation program searching for alien attacks on the hardware and software systems of the computer.

He felt the internals try to boot up fully, try to suck more power from the generator. He wasn't ready, tried to stem the flow and pull back. Systems turned, wheeling towards the power flow as the advanced processor onlined, searching for the power source and the reason for it not receiving its demanded power.

_Trust Starscream's computer to be just like Starscream_, Jazz thought, as he pushed faster through the rushing code lines, whirling through the deviations in script as he chased behind the advanced processor, shadowing its moves throughout its own systems checks. It was hawkish, swooping from system to system, plucking through and searching for random alterations, deviations, power plugs and pulls. Jazz followed, staying out of sight.

He felt the tingle across his processor as the advanced processor settled into the internal security systems. He felt the security net activate, his processor closed inside the computer's small internal network now, isolated and cut off from his body. His processor shadow had crept behind the advanced processor, staying out of the energy paths circling the internals, pinging for invaders and intruders.

As soon as the advanced processor moved on, Jazz plunged, diving helm first into the security systems while he still had the echo of the original around his processor. He wrestled, deactivating code and replacing it with new string, scattering the pings to detect a deviation in the far side of the hardlines, sending all processors to combat the mystery invader as he steadily, slowly rewrote the operating code.

Starscream watched Jazz's frame, blue optics dim as he plugged into the lab computer's mainframe. He saw Jazz tense, then still, leaning forward without control of his body, processor no longer entirely in his frame. No longer in control.

Starscream crept closer, kneeling down and staring at the Autobot full in the face, bare inches from the Saboteur's features. His optics mapped across the surface of the Autobot's dermal plating, lipplates curling upwards as he reached his hand out towards Jazz's faceplates.

Jazz inhaled with a gasp, processor plunging back across the hardline uplink and back into his own body as the computer terminal booted online. He opened the flow of the portable generator, surging power into the system. "We're in," he said, shakily.

Starscream had jumped back, falling flat on his aft at Jazz's sudden reappearance inside his frame. He snarled at the Autobot before clambering to his feet, leaning over the computer terminal and beginning his search for the files he needed.

Jazz climbed to his feet as well, though much slower. His vents were still heaving, still fighting for more fire in his engine. The pain was starting in his chest again, just over his spark chamber.

"Grab the hardware in Bin 13," Starscream called out to Jazz. "And the equipment in the box underneath."

"What's in it?" Jazz asked, slowly crossing the room to a set of industrial shelves along the far wall, not unlike the ones in Wheeljack's own lab, but far, far more organized. Bin 13 was halfway up the third panel, directly at his chestplate level.

"The components for the signal dampeners we need." Shockwave had constructed the field dampener that Megatron was currently deploying against the Autobots on Earth. It was a handy piece of technology, one Megatron refused to allow Starscream access to. Now that he was finally free, finally able to download the specs himself, Starscream was eagerly hoping to reverse engineer the technology for their own purposes. It fit, really, in a poetic sort of way; in the way he always enjoyed. Megatron would be brought down by his own foolishness, his own spiting of Starscream.

Starscream heard Jazz rummage through the bins, heard the shuffle of the components as the Autobot picked them out one by one. He smirked, casting his optics sideways before calling up a separate data screen, a far, far older data entry drawing up specifications in front of his optics. He greedily scanned, rememorizing the specs he had created himself, millions and millions of Earth years ago, hundreds of vorns ago, back before everything had come crumbling down around him.

"You said something about comms boosters?" Jazz called back, gazing across the expanse of intricately labeled and cross-collated bins stretching across the lab.

Starscream banished the file, the data memorized. He called up the memory banks again, searching for the booster bands they had reverse engineered from captured Autobot Resistance hardware, initially stolen from original specs of Shockwave's own in a triple hack of their systems, only a few vorns ago. "Bin 70," he called back, hearing Jazz shuffle across the floor once more.

Jazz's vents were coming faster and harder. His systems were redlining, protesting their artificial depressions more and more with each restricted breath. He longed to unleash the holds, to let fly with his systems at maximum, but that would instantly trigger a flash on any Decepticon's sensor net near by. He couldn't do it, not even if it felt as if his spark was about to burst.

Jazz had just pulled Bin 70 down from its housing when the laboratory lights surged on, building thrumming with electrical conduction once more, the air around them charged and crackling with the reactivation of the main grid. Starscream whirled to stare at Jazz's faceplates, panic shining out of crimson optics, just before the wailing of the alarms shrieked through the lab.

***^***

Ratchet had finally finished sorting the equipment that the supply run had netted him. Nearly all the tools he had requested were there, including a complete set of microtools hand delivered by Fireflight. The equipment had been enough to start the initial setup of the biological lab he'd need to construct to begin extracting the compound for his construction.

He shook his tired helm, leaving the empty med area and walking out to the main room to check on Sunstreaker. The golden twin had onlined in the middle of their raging argument earlier, when Ratchet had been half convinced Jazz truly was going to offline Starscream. Not that he blamed Jazz. Jazz was a patient mech, able to take and withstand more than every other mech Ratchet knew, but Starscream's spark merge with Prowl had been the one thing that had entirely torn through Jazz's spark, torn through his processor and shattered his patience.

Unfortunately, Starscream knew it too.

Sunstreaker hadn't remained pointing his weapon at Thundercracker for long. Though Ratchet admired the determination to join the fight, it was massively stupid in the face of his weakness and injuries. Sunstreaker had sighed into Ratchet's hold around his waist, leaning against his frame for support as Fireflight raced to help the golden Lambo on his other side.

Sunstreaker refused to leave the room until Starscream and Jazz had started their planning, and only then had they steered him back into the medbay and to the berth. Ratchet had gently laid Sunstreaker back down, reattaching the energon drip and fueling him back up. Sunstreaker refused to recharge again though, remaining online and watching the commotion around him in the makeshift medbay, watching Starscream and Jazz snarl at each other in preparations for their mission.

A joor later, Sunstreaker was steady enough to leave the medbay on his own, this time fully fueled and near optimal conditions. He had found the scar across his golden plating, along with the deep scratches in his paint, and had spent the last half of the joor wearing a deep and impenetrable scowl.

Ratchet had been unapologetic. "I had to manually pump your pistons to keep you alive. It was the only way I could gain access to your engine."

Sunstreaker hadn't responded. He left silently, staring at Ratchet for a long moment before heading to the main room to join Bluestreak, Fireflight, and the two Seekers, who from the sound of it, appeared to be having a spirited discussion. Prowl had disappeared to the top level of their hideout shortly after Jazz and Starscream departed with several of the comms beacons, trying to capture any signal, pirated or otherwise, from the Resistance.

Ratchet frowned as he entered the main room. Fireflight sat against the wall, faceplates set in a guilty look, optics darting to Sunstreaker again and again. Sunstreaker was crouched near their gear pile, angry scowl marring his features as he disassembled and inspected each of the laser rifle frames Thundercracker had discovered. He was reassembling the first one and adjusting the targeting sensors as Ratchet slowly walked into the targeting line.

Sunstreaker lowered the rifle and glared up at the medic as he stopped in front of the twin, raising his optic ridges until they disappeared under his chevron.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked gruffly.

"Why is Fireflight looking at you guiltily? And where are the others? Everyone was in here together before you walked in." Ratchet crossed his arms under his windshield.

Sunstreaker's optics flashed across Ratchet's shoulderjoints before glaring across the room to Fireflight, who quickly looked down once more, chancing a look back up an astrosecond later only to look down and stay down as he caught the narrowed optics of Sunstreaker still on him.

"I don't like the Seekers talking to him," Sunstreaker grumbled, turning back to the laser rifle and hefting it up again to peer through the targeting sensor.

"Were they trying to convert him to Megatron's evil ways?"

"No! We were talking about Wheeljack!" Fireflight chirped, small vocalizer piping up from across the room. Ratchet turned to glance over his shoulder at the young flyer, optics flashing.

Sunstreaker lowered the rifle again, sighing and glaring at Fireflight, who immediately looked down once more, then up to Ratchet's faceplates.

The medic could barely conceal the quirk of his smile. "Wheeljack?"

Fireflight nodded up and down, fast. "They were talking about the explosives they had found in the Decepticon's quarters, and were trying to say I didn't know what it was. I told them that Wheeljack's explosives were far more impressive, and much more intricate. And that Air Raid carried better munitions when he was fully armed."

Ratchet didn't try to stop the smirk any longer. "And what did the Seekers say?"

Fireflight frowned. "Not much."

Sunstreaker glared at Fireflight. "This one then goes on to explain that Wheeljack's explosives are so powerful that Prowl could blow a hole in the Ark with them to escape."

"He did! It was impressive!" Fireflight chirped again, sitting up taller and facing down Sunstreaker's glare now with his wide optics.

Ratchet turned back to Sunstreaker. "It was impressive, Sunny."

Sunstreaker glared up at Ratchet. "Enough to tell the Seekers how to destroy our Ark?"

Ratchet smirked down at Sunstreaker and waved his hand dismissively. "Please, Sunny. It probably wasn't even an explosive. It was probably an old beaker of Wheeljack's that he lost under a pile of wires and Prowl got lucky."

Fireflight giggled as Sunstreaker's optics boggled. Ratchet turned to the young flyer. "Where's Bluestreak?"

"Sunstreaker sent him outside to stand guard."

Ratchet nodded. "That's good. Why don't you join him? Keep quiet, and keep alert. Alright?"

Fireflight nodded, scrambling to his feet and disappearing into the dark outside.

Sunstreaker sighed at Ratchet's feet, still crouched down and gripping the laser rifle. "Do you really think it's a good idea for those two to become friends?"

Ratchet frowned down at Sunstreaker. "What do you mean?"

"I'll be ripping out my audials in two cycles."

Ratchet tilted his helm back and laughed, long and low. He crouched down next to Sunstreaker, tilting his helm to the side as the last of his chuckles faded away. "Sunny, I don't think you need to worry about Fireflight switching sides. I don't even think you need to worry about Slingshot or Air Raid anymore."

Sunstreaker gazed into Ratchet's faceplates, still frowning slightly. "I still don't like it. I think I know the Seekers a little better than he does. Or you."

Ratchet quirked his lipplates upwards. "Jet Judo gives you a unique insight into the Seeker's processors?"

Sunstreaker looked down briefly before meeting Ratchet's gaze with a small quirk of his own lipplates. "You should hear the curses they come up with. Any processor that's capable of that…"

Ratchet smiled widely, shaking his helm. "I agree, Fireflight probably shouldn't be exposed to that. Nor should be spend much time with Starscream. But I don't think you need to threaten him if he chats a bit with the other two. He's solidly an Autobot. He's not switching sides." Ratchet straightened. "Besides, he's running interference against the Seekers for Prowl and me when I am working back there."

Sunstreaker glanced back to the med bay, straightening up to stand next to Ratchet. He nodded. "I understand." He glared at the medic before continuing. "But I am still keeping an optic on him. And on the Seekers."

Ratchet smirked at the twin before reaching out to push lightly on his yellow and black shoulder joint. "Careful, Sunny. Keep this up and mechs might actually think you have a spark in there."

Sunstreaker turned away quickly, jaw clenching at Ratchet's words. "Don't call me Sunny," he growled, stepping back across the gear dump to grab a laser core. He shoved it roughly into the laser rifle housing, watching the charge rise fully before removing it and grabbing the next one.

Ratchet frowned. "Sunstreaker?" The golden twin ignored him, checking the next cartridge's charge before setting it aside.

Ratchet was stepping forward, reaching out to the Lambo twin when the ground beneath their feet started shaking, giant rumbles rocking through the flooring and knocking them off balance. An astrosecond later a rushing roar crackled across the planets surface, arching sparks erupting from the bare surfaces of the planet's body before Kaon lit up as the main grid completed its self repairs.

***^***

"We've got t' get out of here!" Jazz shouted to Starscream as the alarms cascaded through the lab. The Decepticon network had just onlined, and it's first protocol had it instantly trying to reestablish contact with the scattered components of itself. When it met with a hollow void where Starscream's lab should be, the network initaited a series of alarms throughout the cityspace. They had only moments before they were flooded with Decepticons.

"It shouldn't have onlined that quickly!" Starscream turned back to the computer terminal, frantically trying to call up additional data, more information.

Jazz grabbed the components Starscream had had him collect and shoved them into his subspace, carrying several larger ones to Starscream.

"We haven't searched the Decepticon network yet!" Starscream hissed. "We need to find the Resistance!"

"I think we already found them!" Jazz raced across the lab, grabbing Starscream's arm and pulling him away from the computer terminal. "They're here in Kaon, by the sounds o' those explosions. We can make contact with 'em later! Let's go! Now!" Jazz huffed, ventilations screaming in their depressed state as his internals tried to respond to the stimuli of battle, tried to prep his systems for the fight. The pain in his spark increased, stabbing through his chestplating again and again.

Starscream reluctantly let himself be pulled away from the terminal. He subspaced the larger components Jazz tossed his way before grabbing Jazz's hand and peeling it off his armor. "This way," he hissed, dragging Jazz down the opposite hallway away from the main door.

The door slid open, now fully energized, revealing a small hangar tucked into the side of the building. Starscream demanded his own access on and off world, his own maintenance and repair facilities for his Seeker mode. Megatron had only taken a vorn of pestering before he had agreed, millions of years ago, and Starscream had once again insisted on the personal hanger when his lab was rebuilt. Starscream brought his arms together and blasted a series of long shots against the outer bulkheads, creating a small passageway for them to escape through.

Jazz gasped for vents, gears choking in his throat as his vision swam. He couldn't stand, could barely see. The pain in his chest was suffocating, crushing his systems and creating too much pressure. He tried to claw at his armor, tried to get at his spark chamber with his bare black hands.

"Jazz!" Starscream screeched at the Autobot, grabbing his hands away from his chest paneling. "What is your glitch?"

"Ah… can't… breath…." Jazz shuddered out, visor fading to near offline status.

Starscream cursed, gripping Jazz's wrists tightly in his own hands and leaning them flat against the topsides of his wings. "Activate your magnetic resonators!"

Jazz's helm rolled to the side. He gasped, not answering the Seeker. "Jazz!" Starscream screamed again, shaking the Saboteur.

Jazz shook slightly, frame beginning to shake and shudder. He pushed down with his palms, groaning as he did so and slowly activated the magnetic fields in his palms. His hands latched to Starscream's wings with a solid thunk.

Starscream heard the approaching scream of hover carriers and bouncers. He heard the shouts of the Decepticon solders racing up the streets to his lab. He cursed viciously and transformed roughly, Jazz swinging around his alt form limply as he lost consciouness, processor plunging offline.

Starscream hoped Jazz's magnetic grip stayed firm as his blasted out of his labs hanger, twisting and rolling over the buildings at his unnaturally low speed before diving straight down, plunging to the deck to race between the dark alleyways devoid of Decepticon soldiers, making his way back to the main grid, and back to their hideout. Jazz's limp body bounced off and around his Seeker's frame, scratching and sliding across his armor with each turn, each maneuver, through the onlining city.

***^***

Prowl and Skywarp doubled over at the same time, each clutching at their chestplating and groaning in agony. The entire team had raced outside just after the grid came online, standing next to an openmouthed and silent Bluestreak and Fireflight. Thundercracker and Skywarp had come tearing down from their perch on their uppermost floor, Prowl racing down with them to stare at the suddenly surging online main grid.

Prowl had tried reaching out for Jazz over their bond. He felt nothing, couldn't even feel the assuring presence of his bondmate's life force flowing back to him. Skywarp and Thundercracker seemed equally concerned, gazing out into the Kaon cityspace as if willing Starscream to appear in the now illuminated and thrumming sky.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Fireflight had asked, turning wide optics to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker grunted, frowning. Ratchet answered, casting a quick, worried look to Prowl. "I don't know. We need to get Jazz and Starscream back here."

When Prowl doubled over, falling to his knees and grunting in pain, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak immediately moved to his side, grabbing his upper arms and holding him steady. Ratchet's optics burned, staring openmouthed at the two groaning mechs, fearing the worst.

Thundercracker turned panicked optics to Ratchet's faceplates. "Ratchet?" he called, an unusual shrillness entering his vocalizer. He wasn't doubled over, wasn't feeling anything in his spark. Skywarp was scratching at his armor, panting, trying to physically grip his spark between his fingers, to squeeze the pain, the pressure out.

Ratchet hesitated. He had no idea what was happening. Spark bonds were unique, and generally regarded as non-medical. There wasn't a thing medically he could do to help them, to alleviate their suffering or pain across a bond, except to offline them completely. If the worst were to happen, and the bondmate were to die… there wasn't a thing he could do. Nothing, not a thing to stop the inevitable.

It had always made him dislike spark bonds, and the unspeakable demands it placed upon him. With both patients lives interconnected, an inseparable bond between them, the pressure doubled, tripled sometimes, when one of them were injured. He suddenly faced the prospect of losing both patients. It was uncomfortable, that pressure, the helpless facts of their interconnected lives meaning both bondmate's lives were in his hands. It was entirely unfair, and he hated it.

Prowl squeezed down heavily on Sunstreaker and Bluestreak's arms, pulling himself upright and gasping through the pain. He onlined his optics and stared into Ratchet's hesitant faceplates. "Prowl…" Ratchet whispered.

"They're hurt," Prowl ground out. "We have to go to them."

"No!" Skywarp gasped, falling forwards to his hands and kneejoints. Thundercracker crouched down next to his trinemate, hands moving over his frame desperately, faceplates framed in frightened worry. "Starscream is coming. If we go out there, we'll be discovered," he hissed, optics offlining at the force of the pain tearing through his spark.

Thundercracker reeled back, optics flashing overbright briefly with too much emotion. "Screamer's opened his bond? To you?"

Skywarp didn't answer, merely hissed in pain again, rocking backwards and arching his backstruts as his faceplates hit the ground.

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak continued to hold Prowl up, continued to support his shaking frame as the Enforcer gazed over the main grid, broken and cracked surface roads skirting the edges of the main grid of Kaon and blending into the bare surfaces of Cybertron next to their crumbling hideout. The power flickered, fading away to near nothing this far from the cityspace.

"They're coming!" Firelight shouted suddenly, pointing out across the main grid, near the termination point and above a flickering conduit.  
Skywarp shrieked, vocalizer offlining under the force of his shout as Prowl's kneejoints buckled, his full weight leaning onto Bluestreak and Sunstreaker's hold. Starscream's form rose from the still-dark edges of the grid, already transformed back to his root mode and propelling upward with his heel thrusters barely firing. In his arms was the limp form of Jazz, frame dark and offline, unmoving. Starscream fell to the surface street, falling forward over Jazz's body as soon as he was clear of the grid conduits.

Thundercracker, Fireflight and Ratchet took off running.

Ratchet's optics widened as Thundercracker pulled Starscream gently off of Jazz's frame. Next to him, Fireflight gasped audibly, vents and vocalizer hissing. Thundercracker stilled, faceplates blanching while his optics burned a deep, unyielding crimson as he stared down at his trinemate.

Jazz's chestplate was wrenched sideways, spark exposed and barely flickering, sparking only briefly before fading to near blackness inside his open spark chamber. Starscream's spark chamber was blown open, half destroyed and mangled, parts of it missing, his spark burning overfast and without rhythm.

***^***

Prowl stood in Ratchet's silent medbay area, staring at the still form of Starscream.

A drip line of rationed pain sensor deadeners was dripping into his central line, slowly keeping the worst of the pain at bay. Ratchet had welded a replacement cover for his spark chamber out of hastily scrounged and patchwork metal, sealing the spark entirely within the makeshift chamber after racing to stabilize and normalize the Seeker's systems. Starscream's spark had burned, energy coursing off of it in waves, exposed to the world for too long without its protective casing.

Ratchet had bitterly cursed Jazz's modifications, forcefully rebooting both his and Starscream's processors to overwrite the glitching code that kept their systems depressed without normalizing back. Jazz's systems had seized, suddenly flooded with the energy it was starving for, entirely unprepared for the onslaught. Ratchet had turned the energy flow down, depressing his engine and slowly bringing it back online to full strength before Jazz's internals locked up under the seizure, before it could destroy his gears and shatter his engine block.

"His spark is now supporting two life forces!" Ratchet had shouted at Prowl. "He froze his systems entirely! That threw too much of a shock through his systems. His spark stopped. Entirely." Ratchet had shaken his helm, glaring downward at Jazz and feeling the frustration roll off of him. Anger at himself, for not seeing that this could happen, anger at Jazz for being reckless, anger at the double spark in Jazz's chest hat changed everything. He bitterly attacked Prowl in lieu of Jazz. "I hope it was worth it," he snapped.

Prowl had taken Jazz from Ratchet's med area after Ratchet pronounced him stable, bringing Jazz to the half repaired bouncer and laying him out across the flatbed. Once his systems stabilized, once the proper energy flow was passing through his systems again, Jazz was quickly recovering. He had already slipped into a recharge cycle as Prowl carried him to the bouncer, cradling his body close within his arms. Nothing, not a single thing, was worth losing Jazz to Prowl.

Ratchet found him a joor later, still holding Jazz tightly and gazing up at the Cybertronian stars.

Now, Prowl waited, staring down at Starscream and waiting for the Seeker to online. He had to ask, had to ask the Seeker why.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were curled around each other in the main room. Thundercracker hadn't lost the confused and pained set to his faceplates that had settled over his frame at Skywarp's words and actions that revealed Starscream's bond to the purple jet. He stroked Skywarp's wing edge as the purple Seeker curled in between his legs, deep in recharge, Thundercracker's optics gazing outwards and not seeing a thing.

Fireflight remained on the top level with Bluestreak, sensor net fully expanded to stand guard against any Decepticon threats, any possibility of Starscream and Jazz being followed.

Sunstreaker had designated himself medbay guard, leaning against the far inner wall and glaring across the room at Starscream's form, splayed out on the makeshift berth that he had laid in only the previous cycle. Ratchet leaned up next to him, arms folded and glaring outwards as well.

Starscream shifted, moaning slightly as he shakily onlined. The pain deadeners didn't remove all the pain; Ratchet didn't have enough supplies with him. He had to ration it out, a set amount per team member. Starscream and Sunstreaker were already blowing through their supply.

Prowl moved to Starscream's side, arms crossed under his front bumper as he gazed down at the Seeker.

Starscream onlined his optics, helm tiling around the room as he dazedly took in his surroundings. His optics fuzzily rested on Prowl, trying desperately to focus in. "Oh," he sighed. "It's you." His vocalizer sounded exhausted, drained, lacking the usual spite and viciousness.

Ratchet hadn't known how Starscream would react to the pain sensor deadeners. He suspected he would be sedate, be calm, but couldn't guarantee it. Watching his vital readings on the portable monitor showed his systems slowing, lulling into a peaceful trance, operating nearly at the edge of consciousness after the drip started.

"Why did you do it?" Prowl's own vocalizer was dry, raspy, words catching on the sticking gears in his throat.

Starscream's helm titled to the side once more, sleepily lolling backwards before jerking back upright as his optics surged. He tried to focus on Prowl's faceplates once more, squinting upwards as he licked his lipplates, glossa peeking out briefly.

"Why did you do it?" Prowl whispered again.

"I remember… " Starscream said, swallowing deeply, helm rolling to the side again though his wavering optics remained locked on Prowl's face. "I remember loving him…" he whispered.

Prowl's jaw clenched, cables gripping and gears gnashing together as his hands clenched into raging fists at his side. "You don't know the meaning of the word!" he hissed, rage filing his frame and making him shake, vibrate with too much feeling, too much rage, to begin to come apart from the depth of his spark.

Ratchet straightened as Sunstreaker did the same, both reacting to the surging emotion rolling off of Prowl. Starscream tried to reach for Prowl's arm, tried to grip the black forearm unsteadily, but Prowl angrily stepped backwards, hissing down at the Seeker again. "I do…" Starscream whispered, unnatural pleading suffusing throughout his vocalizer.

Prowl's vents hitched, coming in huge, burning waves as he glowered down at the Seeker. Starscream stared back up at him, optics wide as he searched Prowl's faceplates, helm lolling unsteadily to the side.

Ratchet pushed on Prowl's shoulderjoint. "Prowl…" he shoved again, knocking Prowl's gaze from the Seeker's and fixing Prowl's glare firmly on Ratchet. "Go to Jazz. Get some recharge." Prowl held Ratchet's firm gaze for several moments, breaths still racing through him as he fought for control over his raging emotions. Finally, he nodded, refusing to meet Starscream's pleading optics, begging him to understand, Prowl perhaps the only mech that could, and moved out of the medical area.

Ratchet turned to gaze down at Starscream. The Seeker looked back into his optics fearlessly, shining overbright. "You destroyed your spark chamber, Starscream. I've built you a new one, but it's not very strong. Your spark isn't well protected right now."

Starscream gasped slightly, inhaling shakily and tried to nod, though he still didn't have any motor control over his limbs, including his neck collum. His helm shakily bobbed sideways instead, optics still shining and flashing.

Ratchet continued with a sigh. "Thundercracker and Skywarp want to see you."

Starscream offlined his optics, shaking ventilation escaping him in a long shudder. Finally, he onlined his optics again, helm nodding in that same sideways bobbing fashion. Ratchet nodded, then moved to the doorarch to beckon Thundercracker and Skywarp inside.

Thundercracker was watching the doorarch, optics surging as he listened to Prowl and Starscream's conversation. He gently shook Skywarp out of recharge, helping the purple jet to stand with quiet words to his audial.

Starscream's optics flashed when he saw his trinemates walk through the door. Skywarp's faceplates broke into a relieved grin, and he quickly moved to Starscream's side, purple hands flying across the red jet's frame. Starscream grunted, shifting his body away from the touches, but unsteadily grabbing for Skywarp's hand instead. Skywarp, crestfallen for an astrosecond, brightened, gripping Starscream's hands tightly in both of his own.

Thundercracker remained at Starscream's feet, staring down into Starscream's optics. Ratchet moved back to the far wall, next to Sunstreaker.

"Why did we bond, Starscream?" Thundercracker finally asked, vocalizer strained. "Why did we form a trine?" Starscream's helm bobbed as he swallowed, holding Thundercracker's gaze. "You don't even like us…" Thundercracker continued.

Skywarp glared at Thundercracker. "That's not true, TC." He turned to Starscream, squeezing the blue hand between his own. "Don't answer him, he's just upset."

"You're fragging right I'm upset!" Thundercracker bellowed. Skywarp's helm flashed back to Thundercracker, optics bright and mouthplates pressed in a firm line. His optics begged Thundercracker to stop, to not continue, to not press this question. "You give your spark to everyone else… and never to us. Why?"

Starscream's lipplates quirked for half an astrosecond, helm again rolling to the side. He was unusually sensitive to the medications, sensors keyed especially high and overly receptive to the sedative and relaxation qualities. They relaxed his inhibitions as well, relaxed his always scheming, always planning mind, relaxed the normally strong walls he kept firmly around his spark, his feelings. "You think I enjoyed that?"

"I don't know if you'd do it for us." Thundercracker's voice was low, tight, still pinning Starscream's gaze as Skywarp gripped the blue hand harder, denta scrapping back and forth inside his mouthplates, glaring fiercely at Thundercracker.

"I don't know if I would either," Starscream whispered back to Thundercracker. Jazz's spark had stopped, entirely, during their fight from Kaon. He hadn't hesitated, acting purely on instinct. He had ripped Jazz's panel open, the shadowy part of himself that remembered being Pax, remembered clinging to the buried emotions deep within Starscream's spark, of his once, long-ago feelings for another, surging out and screaming for Switch, for the shaky, shadowy personification of the one mech he had ever loved. He opened his own spark chamber, bringing them together and forcing his own spark energy to keep Jazz's going, again and again.

"But you didn't hesitate with him. Because you remember loving -" Thundercracker's vocalizer choked off, static erupting from within as his gears clenched down painfully. He enjoyed in a vicious way the painful, agonized flinch of Starscream's at his words. His tone was harsh, no tenderness or care within that he normally addressed his trinemates with.

Starscream broke his gaze with Thundercracker, helm rolling away from Skywarp and his overly concerned faceplates, his tight handhold on his blue hand, his crouching next to Starscream's laid out form on the med berth. Skywarp untangled a shaking hand to stroke over Starscream's helm, lightly. The purple jet frowned at Starscream's offline optics, his panting breaths, the pained set to his faceplates.

Starscream spoke again, slowly, softly, not looking at either of this trinemates. "I needed wingmates. I needed a team. You both needed a leader. It's not my fault I can't give you what you want." He turned his helm to Thundercracker, optics dull and lifeless as they onlined. "I have nothing to give you."

Thundercracker nodded slowly. "Team bonds usually turn into bonded trines. Usually they share their lives. Usually they become inseparable... in the air, and everywhere. Usually."

"Usually." Starscream answered.

Skywarp tried to fix the break, an impossible break that had just shattered across their bond, unacknowledged but keenly felt, reverberating through their shared and united feelings, their bonded and yet not joined sparks. The crack settled, deep within their processors, pain and hurt and confusion swirling around its form. "It's alright," he whispered shakily, stroking Starscream's helm again. "We've managed for hundreds of vorns like this. It's not different. Nothing's changed."

Starscream refused to look at Skywarp, holding Thundercracker's optics. Thundercracker chewed the inner edge of his lower lipplates, sucking it painfully between his denta. Finally, he spoke. "Who do you remember loving? Skyfire? Megatron? Switch?"

Starscream hissed, optics blazing too fast, too painful. "Get out…" he whispered, blue hand squeezing down on Skywarp's grip and shaking out of control. His vitals spiked, engine revving and sending the energon surging through his frame at a suddenly far higher pressure.

Ratchet pushed off the far wall, optics wide after listening to the entire exchange. "Thundercracker," he said softly. "You should go recharge."

Thundercracker's faceplates twisted, pain stretching across his features as his optics squinted down at Starscream. He nodded slowly, then moved to the doorarch.

Skywarp watched him go with open, disbelieving mouthplates before he turned back to Starscream. Starscream was gazing upwards, optics overbright, helm and frame shaking slightly as his faceplates were forcing themselves to stillness. He kept his tight hold on Skywarp, still gripping down hard on the purple hand.

"It's alright," Skywarp whispered, resting his chinplate on the edge of the medberth next to Starscream's helm. "It's alright. Nothing's changed. We've done this for vorns. Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed." He repeated his whisper as he slowly stroked Starscream's helm vents, back and forth, again and again.

-


	15. Chapter 15

Crash Into You

Chapter 15

* * *

**This chapter is also strongly M rated. (FYI, my Strong M ratings are applied for both_ Smut_ and _Violence._)**

**Thank you so much for everything. **

* * *

Jazz found Prowl sitting dejectedly on the edge of the bouncer's flatbed, doorwings and feet hanging limply.

The bouncer, and the half enclosed room it was parked in while Jazz worked to repair it, had become their space, set aside from the rest of the team. They both recharged together there, stretched out on the back of the bouncer's flatbed and curled around each other.

Jazz had onlined from recharge wrapped in Prowl's arms, pain gone and chestplates sealed back together, spark humming normally within his frame. Prowl was staring down at him as his visor onlined, the sharp outline of his helm and red chevron casting a long shadow across Jazz's faceplates.

Jazz had smiled, reaching up with his black hand to stroke behind Prowl's helm, trying to pull him down for a gentle kiss. Prowl had frowned, and turned away.

Prowl left shortly after, calling Ratchet in to look Jazz over once more before disappearing from their area. Ratchet and Jazz had watched him go, Ratchet refusing to meet Jazz's gaze while he told him to get more recharge.

Jazz had fitfully initiated his recharge cycle again a joor later, resigned after expectantly waiting for Prowl to come back to him. He onlined again much later in the cycle, still alone.

He had gone to Ratchet for an energon ration, then set out in search of their small hideout for Prowl. He wasn't open over their bond, wasn't responding to Jazz's careful reaches.

Their hideout wasn't very large. Thundercracker had been having having a difficult time earlier that cycle avoiding Skywarp and everyone else, dark faceplates scowling each time he was disturbed. Fireflight was in all places at once, wide optics seemingly cheerful nearly all times, an irrepressible sheen of hope rolling off of him that was impossible to dislike.

Prowl was nearly impossible to find though.

Jazz was frustrated, tired of chasing his bondmate through their tiny hideout, tired of trying to get Prowl to respond to him over their bond. He had headed back for their space, ready to wait for Prowl to remerge, as he would eventually have to.

Prowl was waiting for him there though.

All of Jazz's frustration melted away at the torn and weary set to Prowl's faceplates. Prowl's optics were dim, glazed over as he stared up at Jazz, doorwings low and scrapping the flatbed of the bouncer. His mouthplates were pressed firmly together, slightly shaking.

There was simply so much shame rolling off of him it stopped Jazz in his tracks, halted his forward momentum from rushing to Prowl's side. "Prowl?"

Prowl sighed, long and low, still staring into Jazz's worried gaze. "I'm sorry, Jazz." His voice was soft, barely audible in their fractured room.

"What's wrong?" Jazz tried to push against Prowl's block once more, tried to get his bondmate to open up to him. His spark twinged, seeing Prowl in such bare hurt, such a pained and weary look to his optics. Prowl refused to lower his walls, refused to let his emotions flow for Jazz to feel.

"I did try to warn you that this would happen…" Prowl trailed off, shaking his helm.

"What, Prowl? What's goin' on?" Jazz finally moved forward, standing on front of Prowl and staring down into his optics. "What's wrong?"

"You are my weakness, Jazz." Prowl held Jazz's gaze, helm tilting slightly as his optics squinted. "You are my strength… and my weakness."  
Jazz frowned down at Prowl as his lipplates parted in confusion.

Prowl slowly let his walls drop, gently letting Jazz feel the first layers of the maelstrom of swirling, chaotic emotions tumbling through him. He plucked out one memory, cherished and bitterly loathed with the same feelings, for the same reasons. He enveloped himself in it, feeling the sunshine, the warmth, the feel of Jazz's armor under his fingertips once more, before sharing the memory with Jazz.

_Prowl shook his helm, the motion transferring to Jazz's own. "No." Prowl swallowed, stroking Jazz's cheekarches still. "No, it's me. It's who I am."_

__

Jazz knew he sounded like Starscream, knew he sounded petulant and whiny, but didn't care at all. "What do ya mean? I don't understand."  
Prowl sighed, his ventilations blowing over Jazz's faceplates. "I'm an Enforcer, Jazz. There are… certain things about me that are different, much different, from other mechs."

"Like what?"

"Like how I feel. How I think." Prowl sighed again, offlining his optics briefly. "I feel, passionately, about things, Jazz. Strongly. Too strongly. I feel it in my spark, pounding out."

"What things?" Jazz's vocalizer had dropped to nothing, pained whispers escaping through force of will alone.

"The Autobots. Our victory, our successes. Everyone on the Ark. Prime." Prowl gazed hard into Jazz's optics. "You."

Jazz inhaled sharply. "I feel strongly too, Prowl, 'bout all those things. What's the difference?"

Prowl shook his helm again. "No, Jazz, not like this. I have to feel this strongly, as part of my function. I have to feel this way about those things I protect and serve, in order to function as an Enforcer. My function is an outgrowth of my feelings, my passions. None of you understand. You all assume it's the opposite…" Prowl shook his helm again.

"I still don't understand…"

_"I have to control it, Jazz. I can't let it all out, let it all run wild. My feelings can easily overwhelm me, too easily. They'll cripple me, break me." Jazz offlined his optics as he listened to Prowl's halting words. "My emotions, my feelings are why Pax joined so strongly to me. He's the same. Except he doesn't control his feelings." Prowl sighed. "I can't do that, Jazz. I can't." Prowl's voice was no more than a pleading whisper, begging Jazz to understand him._

"I feel so strongly about you…" Prowl said, gazing upwards at Jazz standing over him, still seated on the edge of the bouncer's flatbed. "It paralyzes me. I can't think. I can't function." He reached out, griping Jazz's black hands in his dirty white ones, stroking his fingers gently down Jazz's palm. "All I want to do is pull you close. Hide you away. Keep you safe."

"Prowl," Jazz started, trying to interject.

Prowl stopped him, cutting his bondmate off with a small shake of him helm. "It's not fair to you. How I feel."

Jazz frowned, squeezing Prowl's hands in his own, but didn't say anything.

After a long moment, Prowl continued, gazing downwards. "Being with you gives me so much strength. I'm alive in a way I didn't know I could be." He looked upwards, gazing once more into Jazz's faceplates. "But I am so scared of losing you." His vocalizer shook, raw emotion pouring forth as he lowered his walls completely, flooding Jazz with his terrified, panicked feelings, rushing through him again and again as Jazz lay on the med berth with a dying, flickering spark, the horror at seeing Starscream try to jump start Jazz's spark with his own, the gnawing fear and worry that he couldn't shake as the two ventured off together for Kaon. His anxiety, rolling through his tanks over their mission, from the very beginning, from holding Jazz's hand as they woke up on the pebble beach in Mexico, to Jazz's desperate, loving act of sabotage, interning Switch's spark within his own core. Blasting through the space bridge and destroying Shockwave's lab, hiding in their safehouse, on the edge of Kaon's cityspace, isolated and pressed back from any aid, any help, completely cut off from all assistance and without a clear plan or a strategy.

Jazz felt the helplessness rocket through Prowl, the shame and the fear and the loss course through his lines, the gear-stopping panic that settled around his spark. Not only was he terrified he's fail, that he'd lose control of the mission, that'd he'd fail to save Earth and Cybertron from the dually dangerous threats of the looming Quintessons and Megatron's planned return in a sweepingly grand annihilation of the Autobots and Earth… he was terrified, petrified, of losing his team, and of losing Jazz.

Jazz rocked backwards, physically reacting to the intensity of the emotions coursing through Prowl. He gasped, dragging in a deep ventilation to offset his own rising internals, trying to combat his own surging emotions.

Jazz stepped closer to Prowl, gripping the white hands tightly and pulling them up to his chestplating. "Ya can't keep all of this inside, Prowl. Ya can't let it destroy you like this."

Prowl shook his helm. "I can't stop these feelings, Jazz. They're too intense." He shook his helm slowly, again. "We probably should have waited to bond… But I didn't want to live another astrosecond without you." He gazed upwards. "I can't rebuild my control…" his optics shimmered again, brightening as they gazed into Jazz's optics.

"It's not abou' control, Prowl." Jazz squeezed his hands again. "It's about trust."

Prowl stared at Jazz, vents cycling deeper, faster.

"It's abou' trust. Trust me. Share these feelin's with me. Don't block me out." Jazz squeezed Prowl's hands again, tightly. "Trust me t' do my job. Trust me t' be yer partner. Trust me to fight at yer side. Trust me t' be me, with you." Jazz brought Prowl's hands to his lipplates, gently kissing the curled fingers softly. "Trust me t' be your equal."

"Jazz, you-"

Jazz cut Prowl off, not letting him finish. "I'm not yer equal, Prowl. Not when ya cut me out, block me out. Not when ya don't share this with me." He lowered Prowl's hands back down to his chestplates, directly over his spark chamber. "I feel strongly abou' ya as well, Prowl. Abou' the mission. Abou' our friends. Don't disregard my feelin's for ya, or for everyone. I need t' be by your side too."

Prowl swallowed slowly. "Jazz, you are not my equal." Jazz's visor flashed, vents whirling suddenly. "You're so much better than me…"

Jazz exhaled forcefully, calming from his sudden systems spike. "That's not true, Prowl. Tha's not true at all." He leaned forward, putting his helm directly into Prowl's faceplates. "We've had this problem before. Do we need t' fight it out the same way?"

Prowl winced, drawing backwards. Pax had refused to let Switch fly on his bouncer, on that final, fateful day, millions of years ago. He had steadfastly refused, demanding Switch stay in their underground bunker, in their command center, with the scientists. He wanted Switch to direct the battle, to unite the spread out teams across the comms network as they made their strike.

Switch had hated that idea. They fought bitterly, and for a long, lonely while.

"Ya lost that one, and you've already lost this time, Prowl." Jazz smirked, disentangling his hands from their grip on Prowl's and cupping his helm. "How long 'ave we known each other?" Jazz leaned in for a gentle, chaste kiss on Prowl's lipplates.

Prowl leaned into the kiss, trying to deepen it, moaning when Jazz pulled back. "Vorns," he replied, optics wide.

"How many vorns?" Jazz leaned down for another quick kiss.

"Hundreds." Prowl once again tried to deepen the kiss, nipping at Jazz's lipplates before Jazz pulled back with a small smile.

"And 'ave we fought at each other's sides through all o' that time? Been together? Trusted each other? Never let each other down?" Jazz leaned forward again, this time kissing the center of Prowl's chevron, the Enforcer groaning at the loss of Jazz's lipplates on his own.

"Yesss…."

"I think ya need remindin'." Jazz smirked, lowering his helm once again to Prowl's faceplates and leaning in for a kiss, this one deeper and longer. Prowl moaned, reaching up for Jazz's helm, fingers cupping Jazz's audial horns and stroking over the black plating. Jazz smiled, chuckling into the kiss just before his glossa snaked out, tangling with Prowl's own.

Prowl sighed, arms firmly wrapping around Jazz's shoulderjoints as Jazz pushed the Enforcer backwards to lay flat on the bouncer, doorwings parting and splaying wide beneath him. He climbed on top of Prowl's form, straddling his hips and continuing their kiss as his hands began to roam over Prowl's armor.

Jazz flooded their bond with his feelings of love, of warmth, of tenderness and affection for his bondmate, intermingled with his strong and firm convictions and resolute faith in Prowl, his hundred-vorns long belief and trust in his abilities. Prowl shuddered, offlining his optics and surrendering himself to the feelings of Jazz, both over their bond and physically seduced upon his body.

Jazz splayed his hands over and across Prowl's armor, sighing into the transformation seams as he leaned down, arching his backstruts and aft rising as he remained kneeling over Prowl. He trailed his glossa out, slowly tracing idle lines across Prowl's chestplating while his fingers continued their exploration, stroking, touching, fondling the armor and cables of his bondmate and sending tingling energy currents flashing through his internals.

Prowl's internals warmed, energy flashing and cascading faster as Jazz's ministrations tore thorough him, heat and passion building a heat inside his circuits. He tried to reach for Jazz, tried to stroke his helm, his horns, tried to fondle back, but Jazz grunted, shaking his hands off and continuing his tasting and touching.

Prowl laid his arms out to the sides, moaning and tossing his helm as Jazz's glossa swirled around his headlight before lapping across his grill, fingers still twirling inside his sensitive side seams. Jazz moved downwards, nosily sucking and biting on Prowl's bumper as his fingers twisted, pinching the lines inside Prowl and causing the Enforcer to arch upwards, gasping.

Jazz grinned around the bumper in his mouthplates, lapping at the slick lubricants he left trailing across Prowl's armor before moving to the center of Prowl's chestplates, licking across the seams and nibbling at the bottom edge. "Open up," he purred.

Prowl groaned, onlining his optics to stare at Jazz as his chest panels separated, spark chamber revealed, spark pulsing within quick and excited. It surged, feeling Jazz so close, wanting to join with the spark of his much-needed other half, his bondmate.

"Very good, Prowler," Jazz purred, leaning forward to capture Prowl's lipplates again, tangling their glossas together fiercely, sucking and tasting each other, gripping their armor frames, helms, shoulders, wherever their hands could grab and stroke. Jazz retracted his own chest plates, exposing his own spark chamber, dual sparks inside beating as one, pulsing outwards in a brilliant shine.

Prowl broke their rough kiss with a gasp, leaning backwards. "Jazz, wait!" he panted, as Jazz relentlessly sucked his neck cables, moving upwards to nuzzle and lick at his audial before traveling back across his chevron, over his helm. "You're healing…"

"I ask'd Ratch'," Jazz murmured into Prowl's other audial, the Enforcer writhing and shaking beneath him at Jazz's lust-filled, needy tone, burning for Prowl's touch and spark. "Ask'd if ah could ravage ya. He said it would be good, actually."

Prowl gasped again, wrenching his helm away from Jazz's greedy lipplates. "Ratchet said it would be good for you to ravage me?"

Jazz smirked down at Prowl, leaning forward and brushing the edges of their spark chambers together, causing both inner chambers to retract with soft hisses, sparks exposed and arching outwards for each other. Jazz pulled back slightly, only tendrils of spark energy stretching and reaching between them, trying to grab the other, trying to pull them down, to merge and conjoin with their other. "We're bonded, remember? Part o' me is right there in you." He leaned down once more, sparks crackling as they stretched, demanding to join together.

Prowl threw his helm back hard, arching his backstruts and shaking with need. He gritted his denta, arms flying to Jazz's waistplating as his hands gripped down hard on the Saboteur's aft, planting his hold firmly on Jazz. "Doctor's orders," he gasped, trying to drag Jazz down deeper, trying to force his bondmate to finally, perfectly join their sparks.

Jazz swooped down, seizing Prowl's lipplates in between his own as he ground their bodies together forcefully, sparks uniting as their armor plating scrapped together, electrical surges racing and cascading through their frames, sensor nets exploding with input. Prowl gasped, groaned, wrapped his arms tightly around Jazz's shoulders, legs propping up to encircle Jazz's waist as the Saboteur stretched out over Prowl's form, his own arms wrapped around Prowl's helm and shoulderjoints, glossa and mouthplates devouring Prowl's own in a hungry, possessive, demanding kiss.

Jazz's spark pulsed down, deep into Prowl's own, reaching out for the terrified, scattered bits of Prowl's destroyed control, scattered amongst this wild emotions. He pulled, drawing together the deeply felt, burning emotions of their bondmate; his determination to save Earth, to save Cybertron, his resolve to protect and defend the Autobots, to serve Prime faithfully, his fears for their mission, his uncertainty at their new position, wildly out of control and off their plan, relying on Starscream's shaky intelligence. His terror, suffusing and surrounding it all, at losing Jazz, felt so close to the surface just that last cycle.

Prowl sobbed underneath Jazz, feeling each of his emotions being uncovered by his bondmate, examined, drawn together in one tight ball in his spark, held and clutched by Jazz's own, surrounded and wrapped in the warmth and light of his bondmate. He clutched his legs tighter around Jazz, squeezed downwards with his arms, trying to draw Jazz deep inside him, trying to disappear into Jazz's hold.

Jazz's spark flooded Prowl's own, burying Prowl's memories and emotions in their joined lives, series of incidents and memories cascading through them both. Their first meetings, first assignments, bitterly at odds with each other. Their assignments in Iacon, the slow friendship that built. Their deeply cherished and hidden feelings nurtured quietly for the other, borne out of a mutual respect during joint operations, actions against the Decepticons. Their mistakes, the battles that were almost too close, hiding and sheltering and searching for the other. Always finding each other again, tired faceplates smiling wide, brief finger grips the only thing they acknowledged then.

Jazz poured it all, the long, drawn out history of their friendship, the beginnings of their love, the depth of their entangled lives into the bond, showering Prowl in the entire history of their union. Prowl sobbed again, optics offline as he buried his faceplates in Jazz's neckcables, gasping Jazz's name again and again, gripping tight to his bondmate and riding along the surging crest of emotions. Jazz cradled Prowl in his arms, tightly, whispering down in his audial words of love and tenderness, whispering his faith and pride in Prowl, his firm belief in all that his bondmate was.

Jazz pulled back, looking downward into Prowl's faceplates, the Enforcer still shuddering in his arms. He cupped Prowl's helm, stroking his cheekarches and kissing his chevron, waiting for Prowl's optics to online. He reigned his memories back in, leaving the swirling sensations of their love, their tender regard and deep respect for each other floating across their bond.

Prowl shakily onlined his optics at the tender touches, gazing upwards into Jazz's faceplates, panting heavily. "You can entirely unmake me…" he whispered.

Jazz gazed down hard into Prowl's optics. "Do ya trust me?" he asked, still stroking Prowl's faceplates. He swirled his feelings, his spark, around the ball of Prowl's emotions, around his pain, his terror, his shock at being so out of control of his life and feelings.

Prowl gripped Jazz tighter, everywhere, arms and legs squeezing around his bondmate again. "Of course."

"Then let go," Jazz whispered softly. "Let go into m' arms."

"I can't!" Prowl shuddered, squeezing his hands around Jazz's shoulderjoints, doorwings scraping the flatbed underneath him as his frame tensed entirely. "I can't… I'll fail. I'll fall."

"I will catch ya. Always." Jazz leaned forward, capturing Prowl's lipplates as he let his spark unfold, curling through Prowl's entire system, his internals, his lines, cables, circuits and engine, warming and infusing every inch of his frame with Jazz's unconditional love, his unrestrained emotions coursing through Prowl's own, illuminating the dark reaches of Prowl's processor, burning his doubts, his fears, his uncertainties away, leaving only Jazz's comforting, reassuring love, his unyielding faith in Prowl, behind.

Prowl sobbed into the kiss, hands gripping tight to Jazz's helm, grasping the Saboteur's faceplates as he pushed back with his own spark, meeting Jazz's warmth and tenderness with his gasping surrender, surrendering himself entirely to Jazz's love, to the complete loss of control that came with the realization that half his spark no longer belonged to him, to the complete acceptance that this was entirely what he had wanted, his entire life.

Their overload was the sweet culmination of their whole lives, gently nudging them both over the precipice of their past and tumbling together downwards into their conjoined future.

***^***

Starscream spent a full cycle recovering in the makeshift medbay, growing bored and bitchy as soon as the pain sensor deadeners were no longer pouring through his system. He annoyed Ratchet entirely out of the medbay, throwing his hands up and growling as he left. Starscream smirked wickedly, removing from his subspace an item he'd smuggled from Earth, as well as hobbling over to snatch several of Ratchet's micro-tools from his makeshift work surface.

Skywarp tried to spend time with him, wandering into the medbay at different joors, gazing at him from the doorarch. Starscream snapped at him to leave, to let him work in peace, before finally relenting and asking Skywarp to bring him the components for the signal dampeners and setting aside his personal project for the moment.

Thundercracker tried to avoid everyone, spending most of his time isolated on the top floor, gazing out at the sky as Cybertron rotated through its planetary cycle, new stars rotating around the planet. Prowl joined him, working again on setting up the signals beacons, trying to attach the booster bands Starscream had brought from his lab. Thundercracker joined him after a joor, helping in silence until Prowl took off, just before Jazz stumbled up to the floor searching for him.

Fireflight, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker rotated through watching and guarding their hideout. Fireflight made use of his extended sensor net, casting a wide and intricate guardshield around their shelter, alerting him even to the faintest trip of an extra electron passing through the main grid.

Despite Sunstreaker's dire predictions for his audials, Ratchet found the three mechs quietly talking outside their hideout in peace, Bluestreak relating a cheerful story about his life in Praxus before the city's destruction. Fireflight, who had never lived on Cybertron, listened with wide optics, while Sunstreaker, who hadn't come from such a civilized background, listened intently as well to the unassuming and friendly rememberings of a happy, peaceful life.

Bluestreak and Fireflight were leaning against the exterior wall of their shelter, Bluestreak's hands gesticulating wildly. Sunstreaker stood off to the side, foot propped up on a long, elevated access hatch, rifle balanced across his bent knee in a loose but ready grip. Ratchet had joined them, listening to Bluestreak's story as he settled down next to Sunstreaker and sitting on the access hatch. Sunstreaker shifted slightly to give the medic more room, his leg accidentally brushing across the medic's backplating.

Sunstreaker murmured an unintelligible apology as Ratchet shivered at the unfamiliar touch. He turned his attentions back to Bluestreak, the talkative young gunner not pausing for an astrosecond at Ratchet's arrival.

Sunstreaker shifted his optics down, gazing over Ratchet's form beneath him. He stared, one audial still on Bluestreak's story, as his optics traveled over the lines of the medic. He rarely got the chance to simply watch, to simply observe the medic, the lines and curves of his plating, his helm, the sheen of his white paint. The quiet strength in his servos. The too-quick wit shining out of his optics.

The cycle was drawing down to a close, the planet's rotation nearly complete when Prowl and Jazz joined the four outside, Thundercracker following. Bluestreak stopped his chattering, relating another story about his youth with far-off optics and turned to face Prowl, the only mech who could get Bluestreak to quiet, to focus.

Sunstreaker turned towards the two officers as well, catching Fireflight's gaze as he did so. The young flyer was staring at him, optics shining and a small smile playing over his open faceplates. His optics darted down to Ratchet, the medic starting to rise from his perch, then back to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker glowered across at the flyer, optics shrinking to slits. Fireflight just grinned wider.

Ratchet stood next to Sunstreaker and crossed his arms, gazing expectantly at the two officers. None of the mechs acknowledged or addressed Thundercracker directly; the actions of the cycle prior, between the trine, had raced around the team. They didn't know how to deal with an angry Seeker trine, with a lost and hurting Thundercracker. He had volunteered to help Prowl on the Enforcer's way outside, with Jazz, to gather the rest of their team.

"We need a visual reconnaissance of Shockwave's hangar," Prowl began, Jazz at his side. "Starscream has completed assembling the personal emitter field dampeners."

"Enough for a few of us, at least," Jazz finished. "Bluestreak, you and I will be heading back into Kaon. We need to get as close to that freighter as we can."

"What about the Resistance? They're here, aren't they?" Ratchet shifted next to Sunstreaker, the golden twin's optics glancing sideways briefly.

Prowl nodded. "Fireflight, you and I will be working on modifying your sensor net to link with the communications beacons and booster bands Starscream and Jazz brought back. I think with your enhanced sensitivity, we'll be able to finally find them and make contact." Prowl turned to Thundercracker, still standing slightly behind and off to the side, alone. "We could use your help as well, Thundercracker."

Thundercracker gazed at Prowl for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll help," he said softly.

Prowl turned back to the group, thanking Thundercracker with a slight incline of his helm. "Ratchet, how are you progressing?"

Ratchet frowned, lipplates pressing together. "Minimally."

Prowl sighed, and shook his helm briefly. "I don't have to remind you how important this is, Ratchet. We need that." He held Ratchet's gaze as Ratchet nodded back to Prowl.

"Starscream and I will be going over various tactical plans and scenarios. Sunstreaker, I want you and Skywarp to trade shifts keeping watch here." Prowl waited for Sunstreaker to nod back to him.

"Let's all go refuel," Jazz said, then motioned to Bluestreak. "I want to head in to Kaon in a few joors, during the off cycle. Will you be ready, Blue?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll be ready Jazz. I just need to fuel up a bit and grab a few laser cores and cartridges, oh, and Sunny, can you help me realign the targeting crystal in my second rifle? I think it got jostled out of alignment during that last flight, not that you're a bad flyer or anything –" Bluestreak hastily raced to reassure Fireflight. "I think I just didn't really have as good a grip on it as I thought, and you know, it just got –"

"I'll take a look at it, Blue. Inside." Sunstreaker interrupted the gunner's endless sentence, his never ending jabber a familiar part of their lives, both on the Ark and elsewhere.

"Really? That's great, thank you very much Sunny, you know, I don't understand why the other mechs don't like you so much, you've always been really nice and helpful to me…" Bluestreak's chatter continued on as the gathered mechs returned back into the sheltering hideout. Fireflight joined in, chiming that for all of Sunstreaker's scary glaring, he was actually a pretty nice mech. Ratchet couldn't stop the smirk that stretched over his faceplates, trying to duck his helm to avoid Sunstreaker seeing it, as both Fireflight and Bluestreak began a cheery and spirited discussion of Sunstreaker's various glowers and glares over the groups energon.

When he finally did look up, he found Sunstreaker's optics glued to him, shining brilliantly in the low light, mouthplates pressed in a firm, thin line, though barely, just faintly, twitched upwards at the edges. Almost as if he wanted to smile.

***^***

LT Whitmore slapped his hand down on Bumblebee's hood, loud smack echoing around their secluded overlook. 'Bee had been taking the rare opportunity to catch a few breems of recharge; Hound and Martinez were out scouting the perimeter and Whitmore had disappeared down the hillside into the bustling outlying marketplace with a far-too-excited glint in his eyes.

His slap rudely awoke 'Bee, who startled with a surprised honk to his horn. Whitmore grinned, lips curving devilishly as he raced around to the driver's side door.

"I was recharging, you know," Bee grumbled as Whitmore slid into the driver's seat, gathering the loose robes and tunics of his disguise around him and bunching them together between his legs as he sat down, sliding his assault rifle across the seat.

"That's like sleeping, right?" he asked, leaving the drivers door propped open with one leg dangling out while balancing a steaming bowl of brightly colored soupy food in one hand.

'Bee sighed. "Yes, and you don't see me blasting the radio when you're 'snoozing.'" 'Bee paused, olfactory sensors tingling. "What is that?" he asked curiously.

Whitmore grinned again, stirring his bowl with a bent and previously licked clean spoon he kept hidden in the fold of his tunics. He inhaled deeply, sighing in pleasure. "This, my friend, is curry."

'Bee inhaled again, vents in the cabin cycling the air through in a quiet whisper. He tried deeper, the smell teasing his sensors, tickling his receptors.

His air filters violently choked, sending 'Bee into a raging coughing fit as he suddenly got an overlarge whiff of the entirely too spicy liquid. "Oh no!" He shouted. "No, no, no! That's it, that's the worst!" he sputtered, vents whirring as he tried to disentangle the now permeating scent throughout his interior and engine compartment.

Whitmore grinned around a large spoonful of the curry, eyes brightly wide with mischief as he slurped more down. "What are you talking about, Bee? This is the best stuff; authentic curry, straight from the homeland!"

'Bee coughed again. "You're choking me," he sputtered, vents now on high within the cabin interior.

"You just don't understand fine cuisine," Whitmore said, gesticulating with his curry covered spoon as he did so, splashing the dashboard with orange colored droplets of curry paste.

"Oh! Now look what you've done!" 'Bee shouted. "That's it! Out! Out with you!" He slammed his vents on their highest setting, rearranging their fans to blow directly at Whitmore's face as he set off his car alarm, horn blaring as his headlights flashed, again and again.

Whitmore burst out laughing. He stood, stumbling as he disentangled himself from the wrap of his tunics around his legs, trying his best not to spill any more curry onto Bee as he exited the car. 'Bee slammed his door shut behind Whitmore, then immediately rolled down the windows as he continued coughing. "It's not that bad, Bee!"

"I thought nothing could beat kimchi," 'Bee coughed out. "I see I'm wrong."

Whitmore laughed again, walking back to Bee and leaning his forearm over the doorframe. He set his still steaming bowl of curry on top of the roof, then leaned down and inside the open window. "Here, let me take care of that for you…" He licked his thumb, then rubbed at the spilled curry spots on the dash.

"Oh, now what are you doing?" 'Bee groaned. "You're grinding it in! And you've got more of that foul stuff in your lubricants!" He blasted his air vents back at Whitmore's face again, as the LT tried to block the hot air shooting at him and backed away, laughing once more.

A pair of headlight bounced up their hillside overlook, dark and dirty Jeep form emerging from the scrubby brushes and bushes covering the uphill slope amid the dusky night sky. The sun had set only a few minutes before Whitmore's vicious food assault on 'Bee. Hound was due back at that time.

"What's with all the noise, 'Bee?" Hound asked as Martinez hopped out, matching Whitmore in loose tunics and dirty scarves wrapped in a loose turban as headgear.

"I'm being attacked," Bee replied as Martinez peered into Whitmore's bowl.

"Ooh, curry. Did they use the real spices, the good stuff?" Martinez waved his hands over the bowl, miming the addition of spices to the mix as Whitmore nodded furiously, eyes still shining as he slurped more of the soupy liquid.

"Hey Hound, do you want to smell?" Whitmore started moving towards Hound, holding his bowl out in front of his face. 'Bee flashed his brights, illuminating Whitmore's form and making him squint, even as Hound's extra sensitive olfactory sensors started to key into the unique nuances of the spicy liquid in his hands.

"No! I'm alright, thanks." He chuckled softly. "You humans and your cuisine…"

'Bee flashed his brights once more at Whitmore as the LT turned to head back to 'Bee to clamber up on his hood and gaze over the city beneath them. "You are sleeping outside tonight," 'Bee pronounced with finality.

"What?" Whitmore's voice finally registered real shock, his earlier humor replaced by surprise.

"We are not having a repeat of that Pad Thai incident."

"Did you have some GI distress, sir?" Martinez turned stood from his perch in Hound's open cargo area, rooting for his own pack amidst their various supplies underneath an old and worn tarp, as he rubbed his belly suggestively.

"I felt fine!" Whitmore insisted, glaring at Bee.

"You were in recharge," Bee grumbled. "Unfortunately, I could not do the same."

"You can't leave me outside!" Whitmore insisted, stepping closer to the yellow VW.

"Watch me!" 'Bee abruptly raised his windows and locked his doors, even as Whitmore tried to frantically open the handle, pumping the unresponsive door handle again and again.

"Man!" Whitmore sighed, slumping backwards and still clutching his bowl of curry. "You're a mean alien robot."

Hound laughed, deep and full, as Bumblebee chuckled alongside Whitmore. Whitmore glared at Bee's form, then clambered on top of the curving VW hood, propping his feet against the raised headlights and leaning back against the sloping windshield.

"I can't wait to introduce you guys to Grimlock." Hound said, after he finally stopped shaking in laughter.

"Or Sunstreaker," 'Bee countered.

"Cliffjumper."

"Huffer."

They both paused, then grinned together, saying almost in unison, "Ratchet."

"More mean alien robots?" Martinez finally found his watch cap, unfolding his turban with a tired sigh and pulling the black wool down low over his head and curling up in the front seat of the Jeep, tunics spread and flared.

"The meanest," 'Bee replied, sharing a small laugh with Hound.

"Well, I never really expected robots from space to go around carrying flowers and shit," Martinez said, curling deeper into the passenger seat and beginning to drift off.

Hound and 'Bee burst out laughing again, the image of Fireflight, hauling in a rosebush for a startled and recovering Prowl flashing in front of both of their optics.

Martinez shifted again, against the shaking form of Hound as the Jeep tried to quiet his chuckles. "And if I had to be a VW for all my life…" he sighed, winking over his shoulder at 'Bee. "I'd be pretty pissed too."

"Shut up," Whitmore said, finally through with his bowl of curry. "You just don't know what Bumblebee is capable of."

"Capable of withstanding you," Martinez shot back. "Sir."

Whitmore smiled to himself as Martinez closed his eyes again, relaxing into Hound as the Jeep shared a few private comms with Bumblebee before initiating his own recharge.

After a few moments, 'Bee unlocked his doors, the solid click the only sound in the now entirely dark night.

"Oh, now you're going to be nice?" Whitmore murmured, running a hand across Bee's curving hood gently.

"Just wait until I install my ejection seat…" 'Bee replied softly.

Whitmore chuckled. The lights of the city danced beneath them, engines and horns of a million other cars packed on too small of a road blaring from a distance. Bumblebee had never before seen so many humans, been around so many people, as he had in the past few days. They had set off, tearing across the serene and idyllic countryside of Western China, passing through remote outlying villages and small farming towns, miles and miles of endless countryside stretching before and behind them. Rice paddies and fields of organic growth stretched around them endlessly, against the backdrop of jagged, ragged mountain peaks, bare and snow covered, alternating between hostile and life giving.

The cities they traversed were the entire opposite of the peaceful countryside they had torn through. In the country, they could forget; forget their war, forget their mission, forget their lives, forget about time, even. Everything was shrouded in a misty fog, clinging from the peaks of the mountains to the haze across the race paddies, only the softly floating lilies existing to break up the steely blue mist with a burst of color, a burst of life. The people existed as outgrowths of the land, organic and functional in their own ways as attachments to the land they lived in, lived on, lived with. The rice farmer diligently plucked through his paddy, collecting and sorting, softly examining the toils of his labor while shrouded in the misty wisps of their timeless passage.

Hound had been in heaven.

The cities were an entirely different matter. There were more humans in one city than 'Bee had seen in his entire time on Earth. He was jostled, bumped, scrapped, yelled at, hounded, honked at, spit on, and kicked more times than he could count. He wasn't an aggressive 'bot, not by nature. His entry to the war had been more to do with doing the right thing, with standing up for what was right, and just, than with an energon-thirst or a quest for vengeance. He wasn't aggressive with his own species, his own mechs, never stood up to Cliffjumper or brawled a friendly match in the Rec Room. He certainly wasn't prepared to be aggressive with the humans.

But Whitmore had leaned out the window, shouting and cursing, trying to display exactly as he said was appropriate for the culture they were in. The rules of the road were won by the dominant driver. Traffic lights, grid lines, patterns 'Bee had come to accept as a fact of life on Earth, were as trivial here as they were on Cybertron.

He had learned to be aggressive. He gunned it at stoplights, at intersections, racing alongside donkeys and cows traveling to the marketplaces, squeezing through throngs of people while entranced by the brightly colored saris, the giggling women and wide eyed children. He was terrified of running over their feet; they stepped so close to his tires on the dusty, entirely too thin roadways. His optics were captivated by the old men, long, scraggly hair growing long and tangled, bits of shells, twigs and leaves braided into their elaborate headgear. Their eyes stared at 'Bee, waving as if they knew he was different, was more than a car. They weren't looking at Whitmore; they looked at 'Bee. He stared, again, at the men and boys walking in a daze, carrying small, hand carved wooden bowls in front of their figures, walking slowly up the dusty, shaded roadways, underneath the billowing, low hanging trees. They were wrapped in brightly colored orange tunics, wrapped every which way, almost as if they were on fire in their cloths, the color was so bright.

It was so noisy. It was more noisy here than it had ever been in the Rec Room, even on their most nosiest, most energon fueled night. The people surged around him, always talking, always moving, always alive. Alive in a way he hadn't ever seen before.

There was a rush, a thrum, a beat to life in their part of the world that didn't exist back where he was familiar with. Didn't exist back near the Ark. There was a glint to their eyes, a shine to their tired, weary faces. Life wasn't simple here, wasn't easy. It was hard, dirty, crowded and full of too many other people always too close to you. But it was alive.

It made Bee feel alive, feel energized by the pulsing beat of the humans, even though their cars stank and the streets were terrible and sharing the roads was a nightmare. He loved it, loved every klik of it, even with Whitmore and his strange food obsessions, racing for a new special cuisine at every stop they made.

They were still tracking, still tracing the weapons. Hound and Martinez led the way, their combined tracking and sensor capabilities pinging into the weapons as they traveled around and through the multiple countries, too many names and faces and people to remember as time passed. They had crossed several borders, traversed through too many places, elevations and faces and foods changing as much as the smiles, the languages, the streets did.

Each night they beamed a coded and secured data burst back to Prime, summarizing their day and their finds, their travels, their hopeful passages closer to Megatron's lair. So far, they had traveled in nearly the exact opposite direction from where they knew him to be somewhere located. It was disheartening at first, until they found their first weapons cache, their first drop. The human allies, as unbelievable as it seemed for Megatron to have human allies, worked to secure and accommodate the weapons for the next leg of their journey, and 'Bee, Hound, Whitmore and Martinez were off again.

Whitmore and Martinez had adopted disguises, blended into the cultures with loose, flowing robs and scraggly beards they grew out, making them look especially dirty and bedraggled on top of their already filthy appearances. Hound and 'Bee had had to adopt similar disguises, had to blend into the mass assortment of vehicles already running ragged through the countries they disappeared into, traveled through.

'Bee was still scorched, still faded, still dirty from his rampage through the mountain with Whitmore and his team from earlier. Prime and Whitmore had forbade him a trip to the washracks, insisting that his disguise was near perfect. He had spent a grumbling, itchy night cycle in recharge, waiting for Hound to arrive, before he learned what "nearly" meant.

"Nearly" meant steel wool scoring pads applied at his and Hound's armor and paint in strategic locations, by a very widely grinning Whitmore. Bee knew that human was a sadist, truly. Or a masochist. That's why he was in the Army, he knew it. Hound was surprised, but rolled with it, in his unflappable way. He made one comment about Mirage's distaste for scratched paint on his chassis, but calmly endured the scoring of his paint off his various parts. When he then learned he was to go roll in the mud, to cake himself in dirt, Hound's optics brilliantly lit up.

Bee knew Prime had picked Hound for a reason.

Whitmore turned his head, resting his warm cheek against the cooling glass of Bee's windshield, small beard hair tickling across the dirty screen. "'Bee? You awake?"

"I am."

Whitmore sighed deeply, then turned to gaze back up at the stars, barely shining through above the heat and the noise and the lights of the city below. "When we get back, I want to take you on a road trip across America."

"I think I'm just about through with driving, Whitmore. And your food."

Whitmore chuckled, rolling his head against the windshield as he patted 'Bee's hood. "There's much better food in America. BBQ in the south, Catfish fry's, mmm…. Philly cheesesteaks. Corn fed Iowa steak. Deep fried Twinkies."

"Sounds abysmally smelly." 'Bee chuckled.

Whitmore smiled, lightly stroking the plating beneath his fabric-wrapped fingertips. "I could give you a nice wash too. Hot soapy water, shining wax hand rubbed into your plating and buffed out by chamois…" 'Bee purred, engine revving slightly against the images. "Get some hot women to drape themselves across your frame…"

Bee chuckled. "Now I think you're fantasizing."

"What's the alien robot equivalent?"

Bee hesitated, glancing sidelong at Hound, thinking of him and Mriage, or of Jazz and Prowl. "You don't want to know," he finally chuckled. "Where do we go from here?" He finally asked, after a long moment of quiet, after Whitmore's fingers continued to stroke lightly across his plating, over the curve and lines of his hood.

Whitmore sighed. "Follow the packages again. Martinez said they're holed up in a warehouse right now. They're waiting for something. Another shipment, maybe?" Whitmore sighed. "They already have five devices. Mostly handhelds, radiation spreaders, dirty weapons. Nothing too dangerous, in the grand scheme of things." He turned, glancing sideways at 'Bee's windshield again. "With how much you guys are afraid of this megalomaniac Megabomb guy, he's got to be planning something more than this.

"Megatron."

"Whatever." Whitmore sighed again, smiling lightly. "We keep following them. Eventually they'll lead us to the base. They haven't seen us yet… despite your racket earlier." Whitmore rapped his knuckles down on 'Bee's hood.

Bee shook slightly on his stabilizers. "My dashboard burns," he said. "You'd better get one of those gorgeous women to hand clean my interior. I'm going to be carrying this curry inside me until we get back." He snickered as Whitmore moaned, pleasant sounds amidst pleasant thoughts.

'Bee was noisy now. He's had to be, to push and shove and survive through the bustling, busy streets of the cities they had careened though. He thought his horn would break, thought his lights would burn out. He was noisy now, flashing and blasting his way through and over the streets, or lashing out at Whitmore. It was new, it was different, just like these places.

"I wonder how the other team is doing…" Whitmore went back to stroking Bee's hood, gently. "What were their names?"

Bee's vocalizer shorted, choking against the emotions that welled up inside him too strongly, suddenly. "Jazz. And Prowl" he swallowed. "Jazz was… is my superior. He assigned me to your mission originally."

Whitmore didn't say anything for a long while. "I'll have to thank him. Shake his hand. When he gets back."

Bee didn't, couldn't, say anything. Instead, he revved his engine, slowly, lowly, underneath Whitmore, a calm, steady vibration and warmth suffusing his form as he remained laying across Bee's hood, gazing up at the stars and across the too-bright city, deep into the night.

***^***

Thundercracker stuck his helm outside their sheltered hideout, calling softly to Sunstreaker. "Skywarp's got the watch now, from the top level."

Sunstreaker glanced back to the blue Seeker, holding his gaze before glancing upwards, as if he could somehow see with his own optics Skywarp's black and purple form against the dark sky. He nodded, meeting Thundercracker's optics once more before following him inside.

Jazz and Bluestreak had left several joors ago, both equipped with Starscream's emitter field dampeners strapped around their upper arm armor. Prowl and Jazz hadn't said much, each gazing into the other's optics as they communicated silently over their bond, small smile playing across Jazz's lipplates before he and Blue quietly stole away from the shelter and into the fading off cycle.

Thundercracker rejoined Prowl in the center of the main room, the both of them working diligently on top of a transformed Fireflight, beacons strapped down and hardwired into the access junctions across the Aerialbot's wings, cockpit wide open and displaying his main frame access. Prowl was squinting downwards, poking into a relay as Thundercracker bent over his doorwing, optics squinting. Fireflight patiently sat in his alt mode, though Sunstreaker felt the faint twist of a sensor scan glance across his own sensor net.

He frowned, and continued on to the back area, to Ratchet's area. The medic had barricaded himself within, casting a knowing look to Prowl and chasing Starscream and Skywarp out and up to their own upper, sky-exposed level. Thundercracker did not join them, remaining instead with Prowl and Fireflight on the lower level and working on the communications beacons attachment to Fireflight's sensor network.  
Sunstreaker slipped into Ratchet's area just in time to hear Ratchet utter a particularly nasty and vile curse, along with slamming his palm down into the table in front of an elaborate bio-organic contraption, oils and goopy dishes mixed with cables and microchips spreading across his work surface.

Ratchet whirled at the sound of Sunstreaker entering, meeting his wide optic'd stare with a low growl. "What do you want?"

"Anything you need?" Sunstreaker moved deeper into the medbay, walking around to the other side of the work table and setting down his rifle on a small metal pile.

Ratchet shook his helm dejectedly, staring downward at the contraption in front of him and sighing angrily. "Working equipment? More organic material?" He snorted, then looked up at Sunstreaker again. "What do you want?"

Sunstreaker held his gaze. "Can I do anything?"

Ratchet frowned, gazing across at Sunstreaker with a fiercer version of his characteristic scowl. "Cut the last of the fruit," he snapped finally, not turning away free help. He motioned towards a sad looking pile of mashed apricots. "I need the pits. Ignore the fruit itself."

Sunstreaker turned his helm distastefully towards the pile of rotting, mashed fruit. He almost turned away, said farewell, and headed back out to Prowl and Thundercracker, talking scientific nonsense over Fireflight's bored form. Ratchet wasn't looking at him, instead growling down at a data pad and inputting more figures and numbers.

Still, he sighed, and grabbed the fruit, dragging it closer and across the tabletop towards him, began to mash it apart, separating out the tiny pits from the mushy organic juices and leaving a small, filthy pile of sticky, pulpy innards as he set aside a short pile of intact pits for Ratchet. For Ratchet, he reminded himself.

Finally through, and looking around the medbay surreptitiously for a solvent to clean his sticky fingers with, he glanced back over at Ratchet. The medic was still frowning down at his data pad, lipplates twisted as he concentrated. Sunstreaker hesitated, then asked quietly, "Why fruit?"

Ratchet look up quickly, optics flashing across Sunstreaker's faceplates. After a long moment, he sighed quietly, then moved to a small pile of bottles and liquid filled containers across the room. "Sideswipe told you our plan, I'm guessing?" He tossed a bottle towards Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker nodded as he caught it, recognizing the standard issue solvent Ratchet kept on hand in the medbay. "I know what you're building."

Ratchet cast a sidelong look at the golden twin as he walked back to his position on the other side of the work table. "You mean failing to build," he muttered. Ratchet looked up at Sunstreaker, tiling his helm sideways and frowning. "I only know two things for certain about these Quintessons. One, they're partly organic, and two, their spacecraft and metal technologies utilize iridium ores. That's all I have to go on to build this bio-weapon."

Sunstreaker said nothing, rubbing a small bit of solvent into the micro joints in his fingers, working to dislodge the sticky, pulpy fruit innards. Ratchet continued on. "That is not enough for me to design a platform specifically for them. For their species. I've had to work in generalities. In the macro scale." Sunstreaker frowned slightly, optics narrowing as Ratchet gestured to the pile of fruit pits Sunstreaker had just separated. "Hydrogen Cyanide will freeze an organic's respirations, suffocating their internal systems. I don't have the time or the resources to oxidize the compound, or work through steam reforming. I can extract small amounts of the acid from pitted Earth fruits." Ratchet twisted his lipplates upwards in a small, not-quite-humorous half smile. "In a pinch, you can always find something to kill an organic on an organic world."

"Acid?" Sunstreaker looked down to his fingers, now freshly cleaned of fruity pulp, optics wide.

Ratchet shook his helm, truly smiling. "No, Sunny, you're fine. Would I really let you work unprotected on a volatile acid until your fingers fell off without warning?"

Sunstreaker's look clearly told Ratchet that he, in fact, would.

"You're fine, Sunny. I haven't extracted the acid from the pits yet. I haven't managed to duplicate it, replicate it to a useful form for anything yet." Ratchet sighed heavily, frowning again. "All that it's useful for is sticking up our servos."

"What's the problem?"

Ratchet glared at Sunstreaker. "I'm in a substandard working environment. I have no truly adequate equipment. I have barely any power with which to work. Take your pick." Ratchet shook his helm again, still holding Sunstreaker's gaze. "This is only the first part of the process. Hydrogen Cyanide is a precursor to Potassium Cyanide, which will eat through and destroy iridium ores. I'm hoping to fashion both compounds into a working weapon. We'll be able to attack them from both the organic and the technological side."

Sunstreaker nodded slowly, not understanding the scientific aspects at all but appreciating Ratchet's tactical viewpoint. "Sideswipe said you have done this before?" Sunstreaker asked quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ratchet gruffly turned back to his work, demeanor completely closing off from Sunstreaker entirely.

Sunstreaker nodded once. "How can I help?"

Ratchet eyed the golden twin warily. "You never drop anything that easily."

"I understand. There are things I don't want to talk about either."

"Like what?"

Sunstreaker fixed Ratchet with a glare, his optics pointed and bearing down into Ratchet's own.

Ratchet finally chuckled, small laugh escaping once from his vocalizer. "Alright, if you really want to help, then start grinding those pits down. They need to be pulverized." Ratchet picked up a small metal collecting dish and pestle attachment, bring them around the worktable to Sunstreaker. "This time, be careful of the liquid that will eventually appear. Collect it in here."

Sunstreaker nodded as Ratchet moved back to his own side, frowning at the data pad and pulling out new growth dishes, electric paddles and steam transfer cords. "I'm going to try to set up the molecular replication again. We need much more than what you're going to be extracting there."

Sunstreaker glanced across to Ratchet, the medic already grumbling to himself about the setup and the conditions he was forced to work in. His lipplates quirked upwards, slightly, as he listened to Ratchet's familiar grumbles. Ratchet caught his stare. "What are you waiting for?" he grumbled. "Get to work." Sunstreaker nodded, setting to pulverizing the mish mash of fruit pits in front of him, obsessively careful this time to not touch a single one.

He missed Ratchet's appraising look of his own, complete with a soft smirk, in his direction.

***^***

Thundercracker closed the last panel underneath Fireflight's wing as Prowl crouched down next to his shoulder, peering underneath the young flyer to watch Thundercracker's adjustment. "How does that feel?" The blue Seeker asked the Aerialbot, still in his alt mode on the main room floor.

Fireflight sent a pulse of electricity down his wings, testing the attachment junctions of the beacons to the auxiliary access ports on his wings. "Much better," he sighed. At least there wasn't an explosion this time.

Thundercracker nodded and began to wiggle out from underneath Fireflight. Prowl stood, extending his hand down to the blue Seeker. Thundercracker hesitated for only a moment, optics catching up to Prowl's, before he took the proffered hand. Prowl helped him rise to his feet.

"Can you transform?" Prowl asked, standing back to give the Aerialbot room with Thundercracker. Fireflight initiated his transformation sequence, wings sliding backwards as his plating folded outward. The new beacons slid into position along with his wings, remaining outside his internal armor plating. Fireflight stood, flexing his joints and servos as his transformation completed.

"Everything feel alright?" Prowl asked, standing in front of the Aerialbot. Thundercracker crossed his arms and moved behind the flyer, gazing between his wings with a slight frown.

Fireflight nodded slowly. He ran another pulse of electricity through his wings, through his transformation circuits. "Nothing's twisted. Nothing pinched." He smiled at Prowl. "Thanks. And good job, sir."

Prowl smiled fondly back down at the young flyer. "Thank you for coming along, Fireflight. I'm glad you are here." He held Fireflight's optics for a moment, letting his gratitude sink in. Fireflight beamed back at him.

"Just a moment," Thundercracker called from behind Fireflight. He crouched down, adjusting the flaps at Fireflight's left trailing wing edge. Prowl circled around to watch his tweaking as Fireflight comically tried to remain standing in place and turn to look behind him at the same time, craning his neck collum awkwardly to gaze at the his lower wings.

"There." Thundercracker stood, looking down into Firelight's optics as he did so. "The beacons slid against your flaps when you transformed. I wanted to make sure you still had a full range of motion." He smiled, almost despite himself, down at the young, cheerful Aerialbot as Fireflight reflexively manipulated his flaps, nodding his thanks to Thundercracker and smiling back kindly.

Prowl nodded again at both flyers. "Alright, now that we've got the beacons working and keyed into your sensor network, I'd like for you to try to initiate contact with the Resistance." Fireflight nodded at Prowl as Prowl continued, uncrossing his arms and handing the flyer a data pad. "You're looking for The Voice."

"The Voice?" Fireflight's vocalizer was full of confusion.

"You'll know it when you hear it," Thundercracker chuckled.

Prowl glanced over to Thundercracker, slightly surprised. "You know of him?"

Thundercracker nodded. "It was hard not to. He was your best comms specialist back before our stasis on Earth. I can't tell you how many times our comms would be disrupted or scattered by his voice, or by his blasted music. Played havoc with our formations."

Prowl smiled. "Well, that's why they call him Blaster." Thundercracker nodded back to Prowl, still smirking.

Prowl motioned to the data pad Fireflight was looking through. "Those are comm frequencies I know the Army was using. Thundercracker went through and crossed off ones the Decepticons discovered and took control of. Search through all the bands on those that are left."

Fireflight nodded, putting the frequencies to memory before handing the pad back to Prowl. "It's not going to be easy," Prowl continued. "But your unique talent for finding the obscure is just what we need right now." Fireflight smiled, slightly embarrassed, as Prowl reached out to lightly rap his knuckles on Fireflight's helm.

Prowl's next words were cut off by Sunstreaker's angry entrance back into the main room. The golden twin stormed across the room, thundering footsteps matching his deep scowl. He growled, stopping just in front of their energon stores and grabbed a cube. He turned, frowning even fiercer, squared his shoulder joints, and marched back across the room and into the medbay.

Fireflight watched his furious stampede with wide optics, mouthplates forming a small 'o' in surprise. Prowl and Thundercracker followed the twin's movements as well, though Thundercracker caught sight of another figure watching them, from just inside the sloping ramp to their upper level, hidden back and only showing half his helm. Skywarp's sad optics stared at him, pinned him down, pouting lipplates turned downwards.

"I want you to fly low and stay on the edge of the cityspace." Prowl caught Fireflight's attention again, the young flyer snapping his mouthplates back closed and nodding to Prowl. "Fly over the bare surfaces if you feel you need to. But don't travel into Kaon's cityspace."

Fireflight frowned. "But I have an emitter dampener, right?" He wiggled his right arm at his side, dampener strapped down just above his elbow joint. It pressed close to his fuel tank when he was in alt form, sliding into a secure space in side of him.

Prowl nodded. "Yes, you do. However, you don't have a Cybertronian alt form, nor do you have a Decepticon paint job. If anymech were to lay optics on you, you would definitely stand out as being not a Decepticon."

Fireflight nodded, frowning. "Alirght. I think I'm ready."

Thundercracker stepped forward. He reached across their work surface, grabbing the last of the emitter dampeners and strapping it across his own upper arm. "I'm going with him," he said to Prowl's confused faceplates.

Prowl stared at the blue Seeker. Thundercracker held his optics, clear crimson shining back into Earthy sky blue. He fitted the dampener around his arm, sliding it down to rest above his elbow joint. "We shouldn't have anymech out there alone. We fly pretty well together. I'll fly on his wing."

Prowl nodded slowly as Fireflight beamed. "Alright." The three turned and headed for the outside, Thundercracker refusing to meet Skywarp's hurt optics, his trinemate's lower lipplate sucking into his mouthplates, the purple jet still staring at him from the side of the room, out of sight.

"Both of you be careful. I want you back here within three joors." Prowl waited as they both nodded, then transformed, the both of them hovering together slightly, casting tight scans over their alt forms to ensure a proper transformation, mods and all, before slowly rising and rolling together across the edges of the cityspace.

Prowl watched them depart before casting a longing look back towards Kaon, Jazz's smiling face flashing in front of his optics. He pushed that aside, remembering Jazz's words, remembering the feeling of his arms around him, holding him, reassuring him. Jazz was fine. He was.

Prowl glanced upwards to the top of their shelter. Starscream had taken over the watch a joor ago. He needed to get with the Seeker, start planning, start talking about just how they were going to go about breaching Shockwave's hangar.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

***^***

Ratchet cursed, bitterly growling under his breath as he slammed down his data pad in frustration.

Sunstreaker stopped behind the medic, setting down the cube of energon with slightly too much force next to Ratchet's raging form. "What the frag is this, Sunny?" Ratchet growled.

"You didn't refuel with us earlier." Sunstreaker dragged a deep ventilation inward, forcing himself to calm. "You need to, Ratchet."

"I'm fine," Ratchet growled, trying to move sideways, away from the golden twin behind him.

Sunstreaker's arm snaked out, yellow hand gripping Ratchet's elbowjoint too tightly, stilling the medic in his escape. Sunstreaker turned his helm, glaring down at the medic as he protested, trying to pull his arm out of Sunstreaker's too-tight grip. "You don't refuel enough, Ratchet." Sunstreaker breathed, vocalizer low and dangerous. "You need to fuel yourself."

"I don't need you looking out for me," Ratchet spat.

"Apparently you do," Sunstreaker let go of Ratchet's arm, the medic rocking back slightly as the force of the release caused him to stumble. Sunstreaker didn't look at Ratchet as he crossed back around to his position on the opposite side of the worktable. The mashed and desiccated fruit pits sat discarded off to the side. Half of the clear liquid Sunstreaker had painstakingly extracted, separated, and drained from the pits remained in the collection dish. Across from Sunstreaker and in front of Ratchet's position, the now assembled molecular replicator sat patiently, entirely refusing to duplicate the Hydrogen Cyanide extractions. They were steadily burning through their last bits, the last remaining supply. The final burning of their sample had finally sent Ratchet over the edge, vicious temper emerging as he cursed and bitterly threw his data pads across the medbay.

Sunstreaker had stormed out after Ratchet aimed one at his helm, narrowly ducking to avoid the impact. Sunstreaker had been trying to catch Ratchet's attention, trying to focus him back into their work. Ratchet hadn't cared for the distraction from his rant.

Ratchet leaned backwards against the far wall, sighing deeply and thumping his helm backwards against the crumbling, dirty metal. "Frag this," he muttered, optics dimming.

Sunstreaker, leaning heavily forward and pressing his hands down into the worktable surface, turned his helm slowly to stare at Ratchet. "No," he said. "No."

Ratchet rolled his helm sideways, glaring at Sunstreaker across the room. "Frag you," he spat out.

Sunstreaker's optics burned into Ratchet's own, holding them tightly, forcing their stare. "You never give up, on anything. You never give up on your patients. You never give up on your experiments. You've never given up on Wheeljack, no matter how many times he blows himself up. You've never given up on Sideswipe, no matter how much you hate him." Sunstreaker paused. "You've never given up on me."

Ratchet's optics twisted, pinching around the edges as he pressed his mouthplates together tightly under Sunstreaker's words. "This is different," he mumbled, breaking his gaze from Sunstreaker.

"No, it's not." Sunstreaker turned away from the worktable, folding his arms and facing Ratchet head on. "That's the best thing about you: you don't give up, ever. Don't start now."

Ratchet sighed heavily, looking downward as his throat gears seized. He offlined his optics momentarily, shaking his helm slightly. His optics caught on the purple cube of energon, resting on his worktable that Sunstreaker had roughly slammed down for him as they onlined. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked back to the table, grabbing the energon cube and pulling it into his hands. "I don't hate your brother," he grumbled. "I just want to disassemble him."

Sunstreaker watched the medic take a slow drag from the cube, still frowning. "I don't know a slagging thing about this science stuff," he said, motioning around their table, instruments and computer parts and organic acids laid out in front of them both. "But you can do this. Just keep telling me what you need me to do."

Ratchet flicked his optics upwards, staring at Sunstreaker across the room. Sunstreaker held his gaze firmly, staring back into his optics. "You'll stay?" Ratchet asked.

Sunstreaker nodded.

Ratchet's spark curled inward, suddenly shamed and frustrated again, at himself this time, for his display, his tantrum. He was used to scaring mechs away, used to throwing a fit and then frustrating through his technical problems alone, abandoned during his tirade. He wasn't used to someone refusing to walk out on him, refusing to leave him alone.

Working with Sunstreaker had been surprisingly wonderful. Sunstreaker wasn't lying when he said he knew nothing about science; he was truly abysmal. He certainly wasn't Wheeljack. Ratchet had had to correct him a few times, though Sunstreaker quickly learned to double check with Ratchet before proceeding with anything. They worked in a calm camaraderie, first in silence and then idly chatting about life back on the Ark. Ratchet had pestered Sunstreaker into retelling one of his more infamous pranks. Hearing the tale from the twins' viewpoint was entirely different than hearing it from Prowl's, or from Ironhide. He could feel the mischievousness of Sideswipe leaking out through Sunstreaker's vocalizer, felt Sunstreaker's pride at a prank tactically well executed. Despite himself, Ratchet had laughed, enjoying the prank in the retelling as he hadn't during the incident. It had been warm, friendly, entirely too enjoyable.

Then it had all gone to the Pit. And it was Ratchet's own fault.

He sighed, gulping down the last of the energon before setting the empty cube aside. "Thanks," he mumbled, not meeting Sunstreaker's gaze as he gestured to the cube.

"For someone who is constantly screeching at us all about refueling, you do a horrible job of it yourself." Sunstreaker tried to catch Ratchet's optics, trying to break Ratchet's sudden pall, his suddenly downturned mood. He was trying to pester the medic into smiling again, even if it was just a small twist of his lipplates, and even if it was at Sunstreaker's expense.

Realization hit Ratchet like a bomb. "It's been you…" He trailed off, helm snapping up as he looked at Sunstreaker, mouthplates slightly open in shocked surprise. Sunstreaker glanced back at him warily. "You've been leaving energon cubes for me in my office. For megacycles."

Sunstreaker nodded slowly, holding his gaze before uncomfortably looking downwards once again. "You're bad about your own refueling."

Ratchet smiled slowly, exhaling as he shook his helm. "I always thought it was Wheeljack."

Sunstreaker frowned, fingers tracing against the warped depressions in the worktable. Finally he looked up. "What do you want me to do?" He gestured across the table at the supplies spread out before them.

Ratchet sighed, shifting his optics downward as well. "Here. Let's start over with this." Ratchet tossed Sunstreaker a data pad, the golden twin effortlessly catching it.

Ratchet glanced over Sunstreaker's form as he read the data pad. He couldn't identify the feeling ghosting across his spark, the rolling of his tanks. There was a tingle on his sensor net, an unfamiliar feeling he hadn't recognized within himself in vorns.

Something Sunstreaker said jingled in Ratchet's audials. "Screech? I do not screech, Sunny. That's Starscream!"

Sunstreaker glanced up quickly, optics shining, before lowering back down to the data pad. "Perhaps I'll replay one of your lectures to Sideswipe and me for you to hear yourself."

"In that case, you both deserved it." Ratchet smiled across at Sunstreaker, the both of them falling into a familiar sequence once again, sharing looks and almost-smiles as they puzzled through Ratchet's technology once more.

***^***

"There we go," Jazz breathed, Bluestreak crouched low at his side. "Righ'… there." Jazz squinted his optics through Bluestreak's sniper scope, the scope working as a jury-rigged optical enhancing peripheral.

The two were laying flat out on their front, crouched low and ducking down inside an abandoned merchant's shop in the old quarter of Kaon, in what was once a lucrative and bustling marketplace. It had turned downward at the beginning of the Troubles, merchants abandoning Kaon in droves as the Decepticons moved in, gaining more and more ground, though Kaon had never been as prosperous as it had been in the Golden Age, many many vorns prior to Jazz's own lifetime.

Jazz and Bluestreak had quietly slipped around and through Kaon's perimeter, sticking to the darker, less electrically-infused areas of the cityspace. Much of Kaon's power was being sucked up into Shockwave's compound, leaving certain sectors dark and alone. Decepticon foot soldiers walked a patrol, looping back and through the cityspace in its entirety, watching for Autobot Resistance forces or Decepticon-aligned swindlers, criminal elements that hadn't been exterminated under their reign just yet.

"Looks like they were rushin' this one," Jazz murmured to Bluestreak. Bluestreak peered through his own scope, much less powerful than the one he had loaned Jazz, but enough to scan the streets surrounding their hideout, searching for Decepticon soldiers and patrols nearing their hidden observation post. "The hanger's all open an' exposed."

Jazz shifted, cable streaming from the optical scope down to a data pad, downloading the images into the hardware to bring back to their hideout. He zoomed in to the maximum magnification. "Look's like there's a forceshield surroundin' the entire place." He grinned sideways at Bluestreak, though he never looked away from the scope. "Guess they thought that'd be stronger than a fully enclosed hanger."

"They thought wrong," Bluestreak whispered back. "Remember what you did to the forceshield around the compound, back down in the main grid? You blew that right up."

"Well, that was Skywarp, not me. The lasers on that bouncer aren't weapons," Jazz murmured, zooming back to stare at the whole frame of the freighter once more. "Looks like the freighter is structurally sound… looks intact… flight ready from the outside, as far as I can tell. It's powered up fully, and I don' see any external power lines. That baby's got it's own power and fuel supply."

"So what's missing?"

Jazz murmured an unintelligible answer. "Dunno. I hope Fireflight and Prowl have some more luck contactin' the Resistance. Otherwise, we're goin' to have to get a whole lot closer."

Jazz pulled back his scope once again, training it around the catwalk defenses hastily erected around the construction area for Shockwave's freighter. He swung his scope, casting over the Decepticons and following the snaking lines of the skeletal framework, Decepticon soldiers crawling on top and over the battlements. Some were working on the freighter, others consulting giant computer terminals and gesticulating wildly towards an unseen central platform, lowered beneath the catwalk. Still others stood guard, staring outwards into the city, blast shield lowered across their faceplates and gripping their rifles tightly.

Jazz's scope faltered, stopping and retracing over the imposing form of Blitzwing. Blitzwing was staring outwards, small frown marring his angry faceplates. He rotated slowly, casting a sharp look around the city.

Jazz inhaled, holding his ventilations as Blitzwing slowed, raising his optics and stopping, looking directly at Jazz's position.

Jazz froze. There wasn't a way, not a possibility, that Blitzwing had seen him. He was deeply buried in Kaon, deep inside a dark and broken building. He was invisible, entirely, to Blitzwing.

Blitzwing turned and called out to Runamuck. "Runamuck! Get over here!"

Runamuck dutifully pulled away from his position next to his brother, joining his leader further down the catwalk. Blitzwing was peering into the darkness, optics narrowing as they tried to focus in deeper into the darkness. "Yes, sir?"

"Form a raiding party. I want you to search that sector, building by building." Blitzwing pointed towards the dimly lit area he was squinting into.

"Contact, sir?" Runamuck asked

"I just have a feeling…" Blitzwing peered deeper, squinting his optics to slits, trying to visualize what had tickled his sensor net, made his armor crawl. "Get moving!"

Runamuck scampered of, grabbing his brother and heading down the catwalk.

Jazz cursed, dropping the scope and hastily disconnecting the cable from the data pad, shoving both in his subspace. "We've got t' move. Now!"

Bluestreak dutifully rolled to his backplating, disassembling the sniper rifle stand and shoving it into his subspace, then rolling back into a crouch. "What's going on?" he asked. "They couldn't see us, right?"

"No, they couldn' see us. But I have a funny feelin'…" Jazz trailed off, unhooking his own rifle from his back mount and holding it in front of him as they slipped backwards, edging around the darkness to quietly slip out the downwards sloping ramp to the outer streets.

Halfway down the ramp, both their emitter dampening armbands fritzed, small electrical circuits bursting in a brief blue spark, crackling once before falling entirely offline. Bluestreak looked down at his now useless armband horridly, then up into Jazz's worried faceplates. "That's not good!"

"Let's move!" Jazz led Bluestreak out into the dark streets, ducking in to the shadows and racing across the cityspace, trying to tear out from the depths of inner Kaon as the sound of Seeker engines igniting thrummed and roared entirely too close to their position.

***^***

Prowl stood outside their shelter with Starscream and Skywarp, gazing out over the dark sky. He had received a tense message from Jazz over his bond, briefly telling him Jazz and Bluestreak were on the run, emitter dampeners down. They were racing out of Kaon, trying to remain unseen by the Decepticon forces as they headed for the wilderness areas over the main grid. Jazz voice, in his processor and his spark, was tight, controlled. Jazz was in charge, in command, leading Bluestreak out of danger. It didn't stop Prowl's fear, Prowl's worry, but it helped remind him of Jazz's words earlier. He sent back a pulse of determined care, telling him to report back if they needed any assistance; they didn't have any more dampeners, couldn't travel undetected, but that wouldn't matter if Jazz and Bluestreak needed aid.

Starscream had seemed genuinely surprised when Prowl stormed up to him, optics blazing and demanding to know why the emitters had failed. Starscream hadn't known, insisting he didn't do anything wrong, anything to sabotage their mission. Prowl had stared him down, but refused to touch him, their violent altercations of the last cycle still fresh in his processor.

Starscream had worriedly turned to Prowl, asking if Thundercracker or Fireflight had contacted him since Jazz had. When Prowl shook his helm, Starscream sneered, Skywarp at his side. "Why would I sabotage the emitters with one of my own trine out there, depending on it?"

Now they both stood, staring into the darkness, desperately searching for their missing flyers. They were due back several breems ago. There hadn't been any contact.

Skywarp was wringing his purple hands, shifting unsteadily from foot to foot next to Starscream. Starscream stood directly next to Prowl, gazing outwards into the dark sky, unmoving.

A soft orange glow, low, too low across the broken surface roads and swinging up form the southern edges of Kaon glowed against the blackness, the thrumming of jet engines rumbling softly to their audials. Skywarp, intimately and keenly aware of every nuance of Thundercracker's body, his frame, his form, the sounds of his engines, gasped, exhaling in relief.

Thundercracker pulled in front, transforming as he came into view and stumbled up the sloping side of their hideout. Behind him, Fireflight followed, weighted down, flying slower.

Thundercracker slipped, wincing as he impacted. Skywarp gasped, racing down the incline to his side, wrapping his arms around Thundercracker's middle and helping him to stand. Thundercracker winced again as he settled his weight down on his leg, heel thruster blackened and scorched. "Get Ratchet," he ground out through clenched denta.

Skywarp nodded furiously, casting a glance back up to Prowl and Starscream. Neither were looking at the two of them, but rather at Fireflight.

The young flyer transformed, optics wide and panting, clutching to his chestplating a writhing, screaming body, chestplates shattered and sparklight leaking outward. He shrieked, again and again, despite Fireflight's tentative little hand covering his mouthplates.

Prowl raced to Fireflight, staring downwards in shock. "What happened?"

Fireflight's helm shook, optics burning and his faceplates twisted in fear, in confusion, shaking and unfocused. "I don't know. Our emitters stopped working, we were near the edge of South Kaon…"

Prowl sighed. South Kaon was worse than inner Kaon. "He saw us…" Fireflight shakily continued as he passed the trembling body to Prowl. "Shot at TC. I fired back."

Prowl was already moving inside, racing back up the slope and into their shelter. He paused, briefly, turning surprised optics back to Fireflight. "You did this? Why did you bring him back?"

Fireflight didn't answer, meeting his optics and shaking in his frame.

Prowl turned, heading back inside. Skywarp had bustled Thundercracker up the slope before him, pushing his way through the main room and back into Ratchet's medbay area. Ratchet and Sunstreaker, both still working together, glanced up in shock at the stumbling forms of the two Seekers.

Thundercracker wrested away from Skywarp as Ratchet and the purple jet tried to maneuver him down onto the berth. "No!" he gritted out. "The other mech needs you?"

"Other?" Ratchet and Sunstreaker spoke at the same time, Ratchet looming over Thundercracker as Sunstreaker hurriedly shoved parts and bits of technology off their table and into a storage cube, hidden away from the Seeker's eyes.

"Is it Fireflight?" Sunstreaker asked, moving to stand next to Ratchet as Thundercracker pushed himself upwards and against the wall.

"No," Prowl spoke as he entered the medbay, struggling under the weight and the still-flailing form of the Decepticon Fireflight had shot, had nearly destroyed. Prowl had rotated the Decepticon's helm to his chest plating, muffling his shouts and screams of agony against his own frame.

Ratchet's optics widened in horror at the sight of the Decepticon, writhing and screaming with his chestplates blown open. Prowl struggled through the room, nearly collapsing onto the berth as the mech's helm was finally freed from Prowl's chestplating, giving voice to his wails and keens of agony.

Ratchet moved to Prowl's side, pushing the Enforcer back as he took in the sight in front of him. "What happened?" he shouted to Thundercracker, red hands trying to grab and run down the Decepticon's forearm, trying to scan the internal energon flow, the pressure, the temperatures, through his tactile sensors.

"Emitters went off line," Thundercracker choked out. "He shot at us. He's not a soldier. Just a scrounger, Decepticon aligned through necessity." He swallowed, grunting against the pain in his leg. "Fireflight shot him."

"Fireflight?" Ratchet lost his grip on the Decepticon's forearm as he shrieked again, bouncing and writhing off the berth, twisting and groaning in pain and blinding agony. Sunstreaker moved quickly, standing at the head of the berth and gripping down the Decepticon's arms, leaning his elbowjoints into the mech's shoulders, hands grasping down firmly on the wristjoints, immobilizing him to the berth and leaning over him with his body weight.

Ratchet cast a quick look of gratitude to Sunstreaker before turning back to the mech. Fireflight's shot was perfect; perfectly, entirely deadly. He had blown through the Decepticon's chestplating, the explosion blasting the plates wide open with the reverberating shockwave crashing backwards as it impacted off the Decepticon's spark chamber. The spark chamber itself had shattered, melting and twisting under the molten strain and explosive force, sending jagged shards of superheated, destructive metal straight into the mech's spark. It was agonizing, terrifying, and lethal. His spark, after shooting a blasting pulse of energy that melted the sensitive internal circuitry throughout his processor, was slowly leaking energy, slowly bleeding out his lifeforce. Energon spurted downward from the still thrumming, still too highly pressurized energon lines, still valiantly attempting to fuel the spark chamber. It spattered across the decaying spark in hisses, rising in smoky fumes as it evaporated, small electrical fires burning across his dying spark at each contact.

There was nothing Ratchet could do. The Decepticon's spark was destroyed, twisted, shattered, parts of it already dead and suffocating, decaying around the broken remains of what was once his spark chamber.

"Fix him already!" Skywarp shouted from his frantic and worried hovering next to Thundercracker.

Ratchet glared at Skywarp, Sunstreaker casting his on glare across the Decepticon's thrashing body, grunting with the effort to hold him down. Ratchet's hands flew back to the restrained forearms, feeling again for an energon pulse, a pressure reading. It was wild, erratic. His engine was firing unstably. "I can't do anything for him!" Ratchet shouted back. "He's already dead. His body just doesn't know it yet."

The Decepticon screamed, long and loud, sharp wail echoing and reverberating around their medbay. Sunstreaker winced, bucking upwards again as the mech tried to throw him off, tried to violently pitch his restrainer off. Unintelligible sounds were grunting out of his processor, violent and dangerous sounding. His higher mental processes had ceased, dying instantly as his circuits had melted. All that remained was a frightened, pained mech, desperately trying to escape his torturous agony.

"Can you give him something for the pain?" Sunstreaker ground out, vocalizer low for Ratchet only.

Ratchet met Sunstreaker's optics. "I don't have enough. I have to keep the rations for you all, just in case…."

Sunstreaker grunted again as the mech kicked, twisting and grunting as he screamed. Sunstreaker leaned down lower, muffling the mech's faceplates and screams with his chest armor pressing downward. "Give him some from mine," he ground out again, softly.

Ratchet held Sunstreaker's optics for an astrosecond, then moved across the cramped room, brushing by Skywarp's wide optic'd and indignant form, past Thundercracker's staring down at the screaming mech. He grabbed the rationed supplies of meds he had doled out the first cycle, pulling three containers of pain deadeners, one dose each, and an injection spike, before racing back to the dying Decepticon.  
Ratchet's optics caught the forms of Starscream and Fireflight, both standing at the edges of the doorarch, cast in half shadow. Starscream's faceplates were impassive, staring inwards at Ratchet and his patient unflinchingly. Fireflight looked as if he were about to shake apart, fall apart, faceplates twisted in pain almost as much as the mech's.

Ratchet guided Sunstreaker's hand to rotate, rolling the mech's inner elbowjoint outward. The Decepticon's optics flashed over to Ratchet, growling and grunting, still writhing in agony. He groaned, flexing his servos and trying to lunge, trying to break Sunstreaker's grip on his body as Ratchet plunged the spike into his line, quickly feeding one dose of the pain deadeners down into his systems.

His optics flickered, vents hitching, then panting faster. Ratchet shook his helm. "His engine is firing too randomly. The circulation is off. It's not getting to his processor."

Sunstreaker grunted under a particularly nasty twist, the mech rotating and trying to throw his lower body entirely off the berth. Thundercracker finally limped forward, breaking the stunned, silent pall that had settled around the room. He threw his upper body down, grappling the Decepticon's legs and immobilizing him to the berth, matching Sunstreaker's actions above.

Sunstreaker cast a thankful look back down to Thundercracker as Skywarp moved behind the blue Seeker, worried optics darting between Thundercracker and the dying Decepticon. Sunstreaker turned back to Ratchet, looking him straight in the optics. "Give him more."

"I wont give him all of your supply, Sunny."

"Just give him a little more, Ratchet." Ratchet nodded finally, reaching around and depressing the spike into the thrumming line at the mech's neck collum, pushing two containers of pain sensor deadeners into his internals, much nearer to his processor. The mech, still struggling, still grunting and screaming, gasped, stilling slightly, his shakes dropping to twitches.

Sunstreaker leaned back, sliding his hands up the mechs arms and dragging them crosswise over his chest. He gripped one of the twitching hands by the mech's shoulder, pinning the other entirely beneath his twisted joints, immobilizing both arms and pressing them down so tightly the armor buckled, dented against one another. With his own arm, Sunstreaker laid his free hand cupped over the mech's mouthplates, forearm dragging over his vent intakes, completely and entirely covering his O2 intake system. He leaned down.

The mech's struggles resumed, optics surging as his O2 supply was cut off. He thrashed, screaming under and against Sunstreaker's palm, desperately crying out in fitful groans and gasps. Sunstreaker pressed down harder, sliding against the flooring as he struggled under the mech's thrashing.

Thundercracker pressed down on the mech's legs harder, gritting his denta against the pain in his leg as he did so. Skywarp glared at him, trying to shove him off, trying to pull him off of the trashing body. "They're killing him!" Skywarp shouted.

Ratchet pushed down on the mech's hips, trying to help Sunstreaker and catching Thundercracker's whispered words back to Skywarp. "It's a kindness, 'Warp. He's already gone…."

Sunstreaker grunted, straining, pressing down harder as the mech's violent fits stilled, his wild thrashing weakening. He lowered his helm, faceplates hidden near the mech's neck collum. "Shhhh…. Shhhh…" he whispered, vocalizer hissing more than vocalizing speech against the mech's audial, breathy gasps escaping intermittently as he kept his vice-like grip, his pressure hold, firmly on the mech.

Sunstreaker could feel Ratchet's optics on him. He looked up, holding Ratchet's gaze with his own unreadable optics, the both of them refusing to look away from the other. The dying mech's fading sparklight was the only light illuminating their shared features.

The mech finally stilled, finally stopped keening, stopped the whimpers from underneath Sunstreaker's palm. His optics dimmed, dropping from their brilliant crimson glow to dark ruby, then fading to inky blackness. His attempted vents came in short gasps, sucking nothing against Sunstreaker's palm. When Sunstreaker stopped feeling the gasps beneath his palm, under his fingers, he slowly, gently let up his hold, stiffly rising backwards and backing away from the still mech. Energon leaked from his mouthplates, dripping down his faceplates; it covered Sunstreaker's hand and arm.

Ratchet stared down at the mech, at his unmoving form. He reached into the chest cavity, into his chestplating, fingers reaching for the main energon pump line from his still twitching, still faintly idling engine. He disconnected it, the pressures and temperatures finally low enough to where he could, as the slowly pulsing energon weakly flowed out and dripped down inside the mech's frame, still futilely trying to fuel and power his dead and destroyed sparkchamber.

The last of the sparklight faded away several astroseconds later.

Thundercracker lowered his tired, pained helm to rest his forehead across the mech's lower legs, exhaling softly. Skywarp stared, stared at the dead mech, at Ratchet, at Sunstreaker and his energon coated hand. He started panting, began to work himself up into a tirade.

"Stop." Thundercracker spat out, tuning his helm to glare at Skywarp. "I would want them to do the same for me. Or for you." Skywarp stared back at him, vents raging, optics pulsing a brilliant, pulsing red.

Sunstreaker turned away, pushing his feelings, pushing his emotions, pushing that look in Ratchet's optics, the stare they held, down, deep down into his spark, burying it with all the other pains and horrors he kept there. He grabbed at the bottles Ratchet neatly kept, barely seeing their labels, their contents, until his unstained fingers grabbed at the solvent.

Ratchet was suddenly behind him, beside him, taking the solvent from Sunstreaker's hand and slowly prying the top open, pouring a small amount into his own hands and taking Sunstreaker's purple-energon-stained fingers into both of his red palms, slowly rubbing, slowly cleansing his fingers of the dead mech's fluids.

Dimly, the two of them were aware of Prowl crossing to stare down at the terminated mech, looking over his splayed out form. They faintly heard Skywarp and Thundercracker continue to argue, still bickering over their actions.

"I have a spark, Ratchet," Sunstreaker whispered, not meeting the medic's optics as his red fingers slowly worked into and among his yellow digits.

"I know," Ratchet breathed softly, gently. "I'm sorry, Sunny. I'm sorry I said that. I'm so sorry…" His voice trailed off, fading away as Sunstreaker gripped down on Ratchet's fingers, gripping them between his own and entangling their energon-stained digits together. He glanced over, looking into Ratchet's optics hesitantly, facing his fear helm on for one of the few instances he had truly felt that emotion in his life.

Ratchet was looking back at him with a look he'd never, ever seen before.

Prowl interrupted their gaze, calling quietly across the room. "Ratchet?"

Ratchet jerked, his fingers suddenly freeing themselves from Sunstreaker's clasp. He inhaled quickly, pressing the solvent into Sunstreaker's hands gently before crossing back to Prowl, still looking down at the dead Decepticon on the medberth. "Yes, Prowl?" He faintly noticed the Seekers were no longer present.

"Can you extract his beacon, keeping his ident codes intact?"

"He's dead now, it shouldn't be a problem." Ratchet's gaze wandered over the mech's open chest plating. "It should be undamaged. Fireflight's shot was directly into his spark chamber only."

Prowl nodded. "Good. Get it out. I want you to attach it to Sunstreaker. I'm sending him into Kaon to help Jazz and Bluestreak."

Ratchet's faceplates twisted, though he nodded silently. Prowl stared at him for a long moment, then back down to the mech splayed out beneath them before moving out the medbay.

Ratchet turned back to Sunstreaker, turning back to the far side of the room, but the yellow twin had vanished.

***^***

Fireflight shook, all over, his frame and wings rattling around his self. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, only the rushing of his own too-fastly pulsing energon raging through his audials, pounding through his processor. He dropped down, crouching low and rocking back on his heels, vents escaping out his mouthplates in frantic pants.

Footsteps crunched behind him. He could hear Thundercracker and Skywarp arguing in the main room. "What are you doing?" Skywarp screamed. "You're injured!"

"I'll live," Thundercracker grunted, vocalizer closer to Fireflight.

"You're going out there? With him! He's a murderer too!" Skywarp's vocalizer was flighty, rage filled and pained. He was hurting, tearing up all around, from their trine's horrible, never-ending internal pains to seeing Thundercracker throwing himself across the body of one of their own, a Decepticon, helping the Autobots to terminate him. It didn't matter what Thundercracker said, it was still murder in Skywarp's mind.

Thundercracker settled himself down next to Fireflight, sitting gently as he groaned, grunting as he couldn't fully escape the pain in his movements. Fireflight refused to look at him.

"Is that how it is?" Fireflight finally whispered, finally gasped. "Is that what dying is?"

Thundercracker looked sideways at the young flyer. Death was different, face-to-face, then it was in the air. Shooting at other flyers meant you saw a flyer go down if you scored a lucky strike, saw a black trail of smoke, a wildly out of control and careening flyer crashing down while his wingmates formed up around in a defense position. Most flyers were brought home for repairs; you never saw the remains, the true death of those that didn't. Death on the ground, face to face, was much more personal, much more intimate. It was terrifying, it was messy, it was right in front of your faceplates. Despite their battles on Earth, none of the Ark crew had been terminated, and only a few of the Decepticon's had offlined. It was entirely possible that this was the first time Fireflight had seen death, seen it this up close, this personally intimate.

"Not always," Thundercracker replied. "Not with us." Fireflight looked sideways, askance at the blue Seeker. "We fly in pairs, trines or wings. We're never alone. Even your Autobots on the ground aren't ever by themselves." He paused, Fireflight's optics still tracing over his faceplates. "We never die alone."

Fireflight turned away, looking downwards and over their metal ground. His lipplates twisted, optics offline as he sighed, deep inhalations passing through his vents. "I miss my brothers," he whispered, after a long pause.

Thundercracker's spark clenched, seizing inside his chest. He felt the keen loss of Skywarp, the sharply pointed words and bitter accusations in his optics as he screamed at him, as he stared mournfully at him. He loved Skywarp, dearly loved him, as if he were an extension of himself. He was incomplete without the purple Seeker at his side, bouncing and laughing and brightening his world. He felt the loss of him tear against his insides, burning and scorching his spark with fresh pain at every memory. "I know how you feel," Thundercracker whispered.

Fireflight inhaled shakily, sliding sideways until he was leaning against Thundercracker, inside his wing. It was awkward, their wings sliding and grinding against the others, but Thundercracker raised his arm, tucking it around the half-lying, balled up form of Fireflight, pressing into his side.

They stayed like that, silently, for joors.

***^***

Jazz cursed bitterly, flattening himself back against the building frame as the corner exploded next to him. Bluestreak, holding the opposite building corner across the alleyway, glanced over to him, quickly checking for injuries. "I'm fine," Jazz ground out, beating back the metal casing folding around him in the explosive outburst.

Bluestreak fired back, a series of three shots peppering through the smoke and hopefully into the Decepticon forces that had them pinned down, pinned back. Runamuck's raiding party had finally found them, edged them into the back warehouse district on the far northern side of Kaon. They had tried to disappear, tried to vanish in the twisting streets and hulking buildings, but Runamuck had the advantage, knowing the streets better then the two of them. They were pinned back against a sealed warehouse and an impenetrable wall, fighting back out at the Decepticon's slowly advancing on their hidden alleyway.

A small electrical fire had ignited after Jazz fired into the crosslines between the Decepticons and their own position, hoping the smoke and the blockade would keep the Decepticon raiding party at bay, keeping them pushed back away from their hideout for a little longer, giving them time for at least a few options.

Trouble was, Jazz couldn't think of anything.

An unholy explosion burst through the far corner of the warehouse, near to the joining edge of the cityspace walls. Metal fragments, shards and shrapnel exploded outwards, shaking the alleyway and knocking Jazz from his feet. Bluestreak's shot went wild, arching up into the sky as he fell forward and away from the warehouse walls.

The Decepticon's called a hold fire, struggling to see through the smoke, to see what had caused the surging explosion, the loud blast, the ceasing of the Autobot firing. Runamuck wondered if the Autobots had injured themselves, a weapons overload or a misfired explosive meant for their own forces. He smiled, waiting for the smoke to dissipate a bit, keeping his sensors trained on the two life forms behind the smoke.

Jazz and Bluestreak looked down the alleyway in shock, sparks sinking to the bottom of their tanks as they saw five figures emerge from within the smoky blast range. One crouched low, searching down the alleyway and covering the other four as they exited the warehouse, collapsing against the walls.

Jazz raised his rifle, steadying his hold as he continued to lay on the ground, keeping his form pressed low and hopefully unable to be clearly seen against the smoke.

"They're here, sir!" A gruff voice called. Jazz charged his rifle, whining slightly before it fired.

"I'll be Primus-twice damned," a familiar voice drawled, finally emerging from the smoke with the other four figures crouching behind. "We've been looking for you for cycles." Kup's tiredly cheerful faceplates stared down at Jazz.

Jazz's mouthplates dropped open. Kup reached down, holding out his own green one for Jazz to grip. "Get on up, youngling." Jazz grinned, grabbing his hand.

Bluestreak stared wide optic'd at Springer and Hot Rod, both flattening themselves against the wall where Jazz had stood before being knocked to the ground with their explosive entrance. "What do you see?" Hot Rod asked Springer in front of him softly.

"Not much. Lots of smoke."

"We think there are about 7 out there." Bluestreak started. "We are really glad to see you, you have no idea, we thought this was it, well, at least I did, I'm sure Jazz had a plan, he always does, you see, like this one time –"

Springer and Hot Rod turned as one, helms twisting slowly to stare at Bluestreak. Bluestreak's words tapered off, fading into nothing.

"Heya Jazz," another familiar voice called out from behind Kup, bringing up the rear of their team with another familiarly smiling mech.

"Blaster. Smokescreen." Jazz smiled broadly at the two mechs, each standing behind Kup and flanking their leader. "You 'ave no idea how happy I am t' see ya. We've been lookin' for ya for cycles as well."

Blaster tilted his helm sideways. "You working with a young 'bot named Fireflight?"

Jazz grinned widely. "Yup. Prowl got the beacons workin', I see."

Kup grinned back down at Jazz, then looked ahead to Springer and Hot Rod, now firing again with Bluestreak at the alley entrance. "What say you we get on out of here?"

-


	16. Chapter 16

Crash Into You

Chapter 16

Springer and Hot Rod picked their way through the four lifeless bodies of the Decepticons. The two had joined forces with Bluestreak, firing through the smoke and picking off the Decepticons one by one, guided by their advanced optical peripherals and infrared tracing cartridges. Bluestreak guided his own shots after theirs, arching his aim to match their trajectory. Sunstreaker's surprising entrance, laser shots blasting through the backs of the last two raiders alongside Runamuck and Runabout signaling the end of the Decepticon's battle against the Autobots.

Runamuck and Runabout had turned tail and fled in a hail of laser fire as Springer and Hot Rod burst forth from their smoky enclosure, sensing the fleeing Decepticons and hoping to offline the slippery brothers. Sunstreaker had joined them, firing after the two before quickly turning his rifle on the two Autobots themselves, not entirely certain who and why they were broadcasting Decepticon ident codes. The two of them, naturally, also turned their rifles on Sunstreaker, warily eyeing him up, optics showing them an Autobot they had once known, but sensors pinging Decepticon codes. Springer had caught the beacon hastily jury-rigged to Sunstreaker's neck collum data junction, sticking out in a rounded protrusion behind the base of his helm. He had grinned, lowering his rifle and motioning to the beacon. "We can put those inside our armor now, you know."

Sunstreaker's fierce glare didn't let up. "Ratchet was in a hurry. We didn't know you would be here to help them." Sunstreaker inclined his helm towards Jazz and Bluestreak, the young gunner flicking through his rifle settings while Hot Rod pulled out the internals of the next offline Decepticon.

Springer grinned roguishly at Sunstreaker. "You had some nice shots there. Good job." Sunstreaker just stared at him.

Jazz stood back next to Kup, Smokescreen and Blaster still holding position within their alleyway, watching through their blown open warehouse for any pursuing forces. "Do ya have an exit plan?" Jazz turned to Kup, the older green mech smiling down at the Saboteur.

Kup motioned behind them, to the gaping hole the five had sprang from. "There's a nice-sized hole in the cityspace wall just outside there. We can fall back to the wilderness areas after we're done."

"Done?"

"We collect the signals beacons from the fallen Decepticons. You both need to get one on you quickly." Kup motioned between Jazz and Bluestreak.

"That's where yer get the Decepticon ident codes from."

Kup nodded. "We've had a lot of contact with them over the vorns. Learned how to use their own signals beacons against them. We don't broadcast Autobot codes anymore." Kup motioned to Sunstreaker. "Looks like your friend there learned how to as well."

Jazz looked at Sunstreaker's beacon for a long moment. "Do ya always broadcast so strongly?" Jazz watched Hot Rod gather three beacons, moving to join Springer as he pulled another one from the last fallen 'Con.

Kup grinned back at Jazz. "Well, I got that idea from an old mission back in the Nebulan system. We managed to overtune their own signals receptors. Keeps 'em all scatter-processored." Kup kept grinning at Jazz, even as Hot Rod sighed dramatically in front of him.

"Could we leave the storytelling for later, Old Mech?"

Kup frowned. "Listen, youngling. Jazz here needs to know how we're able to freely move and operate. My stories are relevant, no matter how much you roll your optics."

"Let's get going. They'll eventually send out a search party for these five." Hot Rod motioned behind him, stepping across the leg of a fallen mech.

Springer stood, turning towards the three gathered mechs, moving towards them and smirking. "I don't think so. The Wreckers are keeping them busy on the far side. Besides, something's got them wound tight. They aren't leaving that compound for barely anything right now." Springer eyed Jazz. "I bet you have something to do with that."

Bluestreak joined Jazz as Kup nodded. "Still, Hot Rod's right, for once." He arched his optic ridges at the young racer. "Don't let it get to your processor. Let's move out, and get you two fitted with a beacon." Kup nodded towards Jazz and Bluestreak.

He turned, Springer and Hot Rod falling in behind them as they all headed back towards their alleyway. The smoke had dissipated, electrical fire now nearly burnt out, acrid smell still faintly lingering.

Jazz turned, seeing Sunstreaker still staring down at the bodies around him, faceplates locked in a terrible, fierce glower. "Sunstreaker, let's move."

Sunstreaker turned his helm slowly to stare too-bright optics into Jazz's visor before picking his way over to join the group heading down the alleyway to their escape.

They traveled slowly, carefully, through the streets and back out to the cityspace walls, keeping to the shadows and laying low. Kup had the rest of the team turn down their beacons, dropping the signal strength to normal or slightly lower levels. Jazz and Bluestreak stayed spread out in between the other mechs, Bluestreak near Blaster and Smokescreen, Jazz near Kup. Sunstreaker hung back, alone, until Springer dropped back and crept along beside him. Sunstreaker didn't acknowledge his presence beyond a slight flash of his optics.

The group transformed, traveling in alt mode down the narrow, rough-hewn metal thatched interconnecting pathways across the wilderness areas of the main grid, heading far north of Kaon. Springer took flight, flying low overhead, rotary blades whirring softly as he kept the group in sight and scouted around their areas.

Kup pulled them over near an intersection access junction, one side plunging deep into the blackness of the dark core, far below the criss-crossing main grid, other side stretching out over the bare surfaces. Springer landed, effortlessly transforming and withdrawing two of the pilfered Decepticon beacons along with a microtool kit and moved to Jazz and Bluestreak.

Jazz motioned for Bluestreak to be fitted first as he stood to speak with Kup separately. Hot Rod sat himself down at the edge of intersection, feet dangling off the open-air platform despite Kup's frowning sigh. "We need t' head back to our hideout. We're on a mission, a critical one, and we need yer help."

"I figured you weren't up here to say hello. What's going on?" Kup folded his arms over his chest, settling back on his heels to stare at Jazz.

"That's a long story…" Bluestreak mumbled, leaning forwards as Springer dug underneath his backplating, uncomfortably close to his doorwings. He jumped, grunting as the triple changer struck a sensitive cable, doorwings hitching upwards.

Springer sighed. "Smokey, get over here. I need to see your setup."

Smokescreen cheerfully sauntered over, happy grin spread across his faceplates as he settled down next to Bluestreak, legs dangling over the edge along with Bluestreak's own. "I wont throw you over," he said, then snuck his arm out, making to grab and shove the young gunner over the edge, cheerful glint in his optics as Bluestreak reflexively grabbed him back, grey hands gripping down hard on Smokescreen's armor. The red and blue mech held him back, carefully keeping him securely on the edge. He chuckled softly. "I'm Smokescreen."

Bluestreak's optics boggled. "I'm Bluestreak. You remind me a lot of Sideswipe you know, the both of you are always doing things to me like that, pranks and jokes and startling me. Do you know Sideswipe, cause I don't know if he ever served with you, I got to the Autobots after Praxus, my home, was destroyed. Prowl rescued me, brought me back to the Army, and that's why I'm here now, really, so that I can help Prowl now, like he helped me before."

Smokescreen's faceplates broke into a large smile, lipplates spreading wide. Springer chuckled behind Bluestreak, finally figuring out the correct sequence of wires to splice to add the beacon to Bluestreak's internals thanks to Smokescreen's identical model. "You're aptly named," Springer chuckled.

Blaster stood next to Jazz as the Saboteur and Kup watched Springer, Smokescreen and Bluestreak. Hot Rod stared off into the distance, pensive twist to his faceplates as he swung his legs. Sunstreaker remained apart, still and silent, imposing, vents whirling slowly and deeply as his optics dimmed.

Kup arched his optic ridge at Jazz. "Prowl? He's here? What's going on? What happened to Optimus?"

Jazz inhaled deeply, frowning slightly, not entirely sure where to begin.

Blaster reached down, fingering the emitter dampener strapped just above Jazz's elbow joint, twisted and pushed almost out of sight under his plating. "Ahh, this is what you were using?" He called out to Springer. "Springer, isn't this the tech you sabotaged?"

Springer quickly looked up, catching Blaster's point at Jazz's offline emitter dampener. "Yeah," he said, turning back to Bluestreak. "We planted an offlining code segment in the hardware of the power node. Slagging things will offline on you after a few joors." He tightened a cable in Bluestreak's backplating, the gunner arching in to the touch as his lipplates twisted. "'Cons would be well outside their comfort zones, confident with their dampeners. We changed that."

Jazz nodded, frowning at the worthless device. "I noticed they dropped offline," he commented dryly. He shook his helm. "Guess Starscream didn' frag 'em up on purpose."

Kup reeled backwards, faceplates slackening in pure shock as Blaster briefly shot out a curve of static across his speakers. "Starscream?" Kup couldn't believe his audials.

Jazz sighed. "It's a long, long story." Kup arched his optic ridges high as Jazz began relaying the totality of their situation.

Prime stood on the ridgeline, glancing down the sloping mound of Earth to the ravine below. "We are in agreement then. We will proceed with this battle plan." Prime looked to each of his officers, new faces filling in where his old friends used to stand. Ironhide, Red Alert, Mirage, and Wheeljack all stood together around Prime, the new command staff finalizing their discussion of the human military's proposed battle plans and proposed use of the Autobot forces against Megatron's anticipated positions and actions.

Mirage had done an excellent job in Jazz's place, filling in as the 3IC and commanding the Special Operations and Special Teams' squads. Mirage had never sought leadership, never desired any further responsibilities beyond his own taskings. He was quietly content on the Ark in his position, and with Hound. Prime was remarkably impressed with the quiet spy though; Mirage had done an outstanding job.

Ironhide, as always, was at Prime's side, dutiful and unfailing as the planet's rotation. Prime was thankful, Primusly thankful, for that one constant, that one unchanging constant in this crazy scheme.

Wheeljack had taken charge of all the engineering and medical responsibilities, leading the construction team in both the temporary housing huts and the medical tents. He had worked himself to near stasis several times, recharging for an entire cycle after Prime forbade anyone to wake him. He'd found Wheeljack talking to himself in the medbay, having a one-sided argument with a very much not there Ratchet about the proper storage of the equipment. Prime had been momentarily frightened that their inventor, chief engineer and explosives expert had finally fragged his processor one too many times, but was relieved to see that Wheeljack was only half in recharge, not out of his processor. He had guided the exhausted engineer back to his temporary berth, comming First Aid to take over the medical tent until Wheeljack came out of recharge on his own, when his body deemed it fully charged. Wheeljack had been slightly embarrassed when he had onlined, but bounced back with his cheery optimism, his exuberant self.

Red Alert had been the biggest surprise.

Prime had known he would miss Prowl, would miss his careful, steady hand guiding and assisting in their plans and preparations. Primus knew the Ark was a strong crew, a steadfast, robust crew, but Prime also knew they were a rowdy, lively bunch. Moving the entire lot of them across the planet had been a sheer logistical nightmare for Prime, at the face of the operation. Prowl had always been the mech to rely on to keep order and discipline, keep the tasks straight and assigned, dutifully undertaken. Left to Ironhide, though Prime deeply cherished his friend, something would slip through the cracks; something major.

Red Alert had calmly and without fuss stepped into Prowl's role, communicating daily with Prime on the taskings and operations of the Ark, as well as coordinating their extraordinary move. His paranoia and fastidiousness had remained well contained, only revealing themselves slightly, and highly appropriately, during discussions Red Alert had initiated regarding their proposed battle plans. Prime had been struggling with many of the same thoughts as his Security Director. Hearing them vocalized, hearing them brought to life, helped him dig inward into the realities of their mission and their task.

He'd begun to use Red Alert as a sounding board. He didn't have nearly the tactical knowledge that Prowl had, however he did possess a keen observational mind, pouring through and weeding out potential problems or exploitations both the Autobots or the humans could run into in the terrain, the operating environment, and the battle setup itself.

Prime had held his vents though, held his breath as Red Alert shut down the Ark and traveled across the planet last. Red Alert had done an amazing job transporting the entire crew, all their supplies, everything they needed through the Air Force. Prime wasn't entirely sure that Red Alert was going to be as calm, cool and collected outside the Ark as he was in his regular domain though.

Red Alert seemed to rise to the challenge, constantly surprising both Prime and Inferno. Inferno had found Red Alert sitting on a rocky outcropping, wind blowing strongly through his frame and whistling across the gaps in his armor. Inferno hadn't moved, staring at the form of his lover in shocked silence until Red Alert turned and smiled at him.

Shortly after that, Prime started working directly with Red Alert on their main plan of attack with the human military. Red Alert was careful, conscientious, and cautious where Ironhide was bold, brave and full of gumption. The trade and parry between those two, interspersed with Mirage's carefully worded and quietly spoken interjections on Special Tactics and Teams created a plan of such finesse and crafty capabilities that Prime was eagerly impressed. He had always been impressed with the mechs under his command, always knew he worked with the best 'bots on Cybertron, in the Autobots. Seeing the proof of that, seeing the efforts of Jazz and Prowl in training and molding the officers and soldiers underneath them had truly made Prime's spark warm.

Mirage and Wheeljack were moving off, Ironhide following after them. Ironhide had had horrible luck with getting sand and grit stuck in his knee servos; Wheeljack had been suctioning it out and trying to apply sealant to the joints nearly since he got there. It helped, marginally.

Red Alert hung back, standing next to Prime silently and staring down the ravine as well. After a long moment, Prime turned to his officer, glancing downward at the Security Director's red helm. "Yes, Red Alert?"

Red Alert removed a data pad from his subspace, frowning down at it for a long astrosecond before handing it to Prime, screen off. "I've come up with a contingency plan, sir. Just in case."

Prime held Red Alert's gaze before flicking on the data pad and reading the contents. He inhaled sharply as he did so, frowning a bit as he continued. Red Alert continued to stare outwards, down the ravine, not watching Prime as he reviewed his plan.

Finally Prime finished, offlining the data pad and storing it in his own subspace. He sighed, inhaling deeply and gazing outwards. "While I certainly hope this does not come to pass, I am not unaware of the high probability of such. Your plan is an excellent one, Red Alert." Prime looked down into the faceplates of his officer, looking back upwards to his own. "Excellent work. Code a data burst signal with the components, just in case we do need to transmit this out to the squad leaders and special teams."

Red Alert nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned, beginning to move off back towards the main tents and temporary structures housing the mechs and their gear. Most of the mechs were gathering for their evening energon, fading sunlight dipping down below the ridgeline.

"Red Alert?"

"Yes, Prime?"

"I cannot adequately express to you how grateful and proud I am of your actions this orn. Your leadership in getting everyone transferred here, as well as your assistance with the tactical plans, has been outstanding." Prime paused as Red Alert's mouthplates dropped open. "Thank you."

"I'm just doing my job, sir," Red Alert tried to haltingly explain, even as his white faceplates began to warm, began to twinge with the rush of too much energon to the surface.

"You're doing a fine job." Prime nodded, smiling behind his battle mask as his optics crinkled at the edges.

Red Alert swallowed, nodding, unable to speak. He turned, leaving Prime alone once more on the ravine edge as he stumbled back towards the encampment.

Ratchet dropped the spanner for the third time, hands slightly shaking as squeezed them into fists, growling softly to himself.

He had finished repairing Thundercracker's heel thrusters earlier, scorched and burned out from the Decepticon's wild shot. The dead mech's body had been stripped, cables and salvageable wires, joints, bolts and servos separated out before the remains had been deposited behind their shelter, tucked underneath a fallen metal overhang. He was trying, slowly, to clean up the medbay, organize the mess that he and Sunstreaker had made earlier.

Sunstreaker's faceplates kept flashing in front of his optics, distracting him from his work.

Ratchet leaned forward, crouching down, one red hand rising to cover his panting lipplates. _Sunstreaker…_

Sunstreaker had shut down, instantly, immediately. Shut down, closing everyone and everything off, faceplates locked in that impenetrable scowl as his optics darkened dangerously, glaring inwards as much as outwards. Ratchet had frozen as well, not knowing anymore how to act with the golden twin as he outfitted Sunstreaker with the dead Decepticon's beacon. It was hastily attached to his processor as Prowl stood over them both, detailing to Sunstreaker the escape route Jazz and Bluestreak were racing towards; Sunstreaker was to hastily attempt to connect with them, to aid them and bring them back safely.

Sunstreaker hadn't responded to Ratchet's hesitant touches, once so familiar and usual in their repeated medical visits. Now, Ratchet kept his distance, too afraid to touch more than absolutely necessary. Once he had finished bolting the beacon securely to Sunstreaker's frame, the golden twin had too-quickly stood up, pushing past both him and Prowl, and roughly transformed before screaming away to Kaon.

It was the same look, the same set to his faceplates Sunstreaker had when things were bad on the Ark, when he had fought one too many times with the minibots, earning himself a solitary retreat in the Brig. When he sat, far apart and away from the other mechs, alone in the Rec Room, staring into nothing. When Sideswipe lay unmoving in the medbay, limb missing or circuits fried after another battle gone almost too wrong against Megatron.

It was the look that pushed everyone away. Left Sunstreaker wallowing in his frame, inside his own armor, reinforcing and strengthening his own angry solitude.

It was the look Sunstreaker had given to Ratchet, optics flashing quickly to his faceplates before looking down and away, refusing to meet his gaze again, when Ratchet had realized, suddenly and entirely without warning, clutching Sunstreaker's energon stained hands, that somewhere along the way he'd gone and fallen helm over heels for the golden twin.

Ratchet offlined his optics again, squeezing his faceplates as he rubbed them into his palm. This was terrible, horrible, a disaster in the making. There was no good end to this. He couldn't have gone and fallen for someone more unattainable, could he? Prime, perhaps? Why Sunstreaker? The twin was a nightmare, a menace, a dark destructive force.

Except he wasn't. Sunstreaker had wormed his way into Ratchet's spark, somewhere among the constant fits he threw to be at his brother's side in the medbay, despite Ratchet's furious bellows right back into his faceplates. Sunstreaker never backed down, camping out just outside the medbay doors and scowling at Ratchet until he was let back in, as if he were some defiant petro-hound. Somewhere among the too-often-seen medical visits, damaged joints and servos, scratched paint that spoke of reckless and wild behavior, faceplates and optics refusing to meet his own. Somewhere among the too-bright shine to his optics when Sunstreaker would hesitantly meet his own, too wounded to talk, after too many battles, silently asking the question he couldn't voice: would they live? Would they be alright?

Somewhere between Sunstreaker's proud defiance, his absolute refusals to be anything less than what he was, between the fierce and caring warrior hidden behind the scowl, between his confrontations with Ratchet, again and again, turning from vicious, frustrated anger to truly caring concern, Ratchet had gone and fallen for him.

The realization had hit him full force as he had looked into Sunstreaker's optics, rocketing backwards from the tendril of that connection, that feeling that had shot between them in the medbay, just after the mech had died. Sunstreaker had turned to him, reaching out, reaching out in a way that Ratchet had never, ever seen before. The way his spark surged at that had overwhelmed him, made him want to grab the twin, pull him close, bury Sunstreaker's faceplates in his neck collum. That had unbalanced him, shocked him, made him equally want to run, to flee. He wasn't used to falling for another mech; he'd been alone for so long. When had his spark ceased to be his own? When had Sunstreaker captured it so entirely?

The when didn't matter. Ratchet stood, rising unsteadily as he shoved the spanner roughly back into his tool container and turned back around to face the empty medbay. His optics fell on the worktable, devoid now of their previous work, their joint accomplishment in constructing the beginnings of the bio-weapon. Ratchet had been horrible, temper and anger flaring as Sunstreaker calmly dedicated himself to helping him, to keeping him focused. He gasped again, spark clenching at the easy camaraderie that had fallen over the two, the friendly, unassuming and good-natured vibe they had settled into.

He shakily smiled, walking to stand where Sunstreaker had stood as they worked, red hands running across the worktable surface. Somewhere between Sunstreaker's complete acceptance of himself, the temperamental medic that he was, and his own quest for the elusive something that could finally brighten the golden twin, finally pull him from his scowling pall, he had gone and fallen for Sunstreaker.

Oh, but now what? He shook his helm again, red hands pressing flat down into the worktable firmly. Sunstreaker wasn't likely to reciprocate his feelings; Sunstreaker was a young mech, a full life ahead of him. He was a warrior, a frontliner. He had Sideswipe. Ratchet was old, an old mech already lived for so long, so many battles. He wasn't a warrior, wasn't strong as Sunstreaker was. He was alone, entirely alone, with nothing to offer Sunstreaker aside from his own spark, his own feelings. That paled in comparison to what so many others could do, would do, for the golden twin, gorgeous and stunning that he was. They were as opposite as oil and energon, online and offline.

It hurt then, to Ratchet, the knowledge that he had these feelings, these deeply felt feelings again, for another mech and yet was so entirely unable to do anything about it. There was no future to this fascination, this flooding of feeling. No promise or potential for touch, a physical expression of their feelings. Sunstreaker was as unattainable as he had ever been, always, though now Ratchet had the painful knowledge within him that he wanted it to be different. He wanted Sunstreaker. All of him.

He shook his helm, moving away from the worktable and towards the doorarch. This must stay hidden, stay buried away. Any whisper, any tendril of this, and he could lose it all, lose the hard-won friendship and trust that had built up between them. Lose the little bit of Sunstreaker that he already had. He jealously guarded that, wrapping it within his spark suddenly, holding tight to the memories of their working together, the relaxed and pleasant currents charging between them again and again.

Thundercracker stuck his helm through the doorarch, nearly colliding with Ratchet on his way out of the medbay. "They're on their way back," he said, stepping backwards as Ratchet walked out the medbay. "They found the Resistance."

Despite his expecting it, despite knowing, after Jazz's incredible story, that Starscream and his trine had defected, were helping the Autobots on their dual missions, Kup was still shocked into silence as they pulled up to the team's hideout, transforming to find both Prowl and Starscream waiting for them outside, Ratchet standing causally with Thundercracker and Skywarp in the half destroyed doorarch leading inside.

It was too much of a shock for Springer and Hot Rod, who, also despite expecting it, still growled fiercely and raised their rifles, reflexively arming and charging their laser cores to full strength as they aimed straight at the Decepticon Air Commander and his trine.

"Whoa!" Jazz threw his hands up, pushing downwards on both Springer and Hot Rod's rifles, dragging them way from their lock on Starscream. Fireflight landed in between Prowl and Thundercracker, transforming and standing in front of both Thundercracker and Skywarp. The young Aerialbot had been circling overhead, flying in a lazy patrol with his sensor net spread wide. Jazz had spoken to Prowl over their bond at the same time Fireflight had keyed into their approach, beacons now off but their movement still readily picked up by his too-strong sensors.

Prowl stepped forward, neatly moving into the line of fire up towards Starscream as he approached the still speechless Kup. "Starscream is working with us now. Despite his past, thus far he has been an excellent ally."

Starscream shifted his optics to the back of Prowl's helm, burning into the white armor plating as Kup held Prowl's own gaze. "You can trust him?" Kup spat out finally.

"In this. Yes." Prowl held Kup's gaze again before turning his helm to Jazz, standing beside him and still facing down the angry forms of Springer and Hot Rod. Jazz flicked his optics to Prowl, smiled slightly and nodded, even as Prowl's optics traveled over Jazz's form quickly, checking for injuries, burns, scorch marks.

Blaster and Smokescreen turned to each other with wide optics. Blaster whistled through his vocalizer, low. Springer and Hot Rod were still glaring fiercely up at Starscream, still entirely unwilling to trust their former archenemy.

"Let's get inside," Jazz began, moving backwards to stand next to Prowl. "We've got a lot of work to do."

No one moved.

"You heard the mech!" Kup finally shouted. "All of you young punks get moving."

Thundercracker and Skywarp melted through the doorarch, disappearing inside as Jazz followed up the incline, smiling downward at Fireflight as he passed the young 'bot. Fireflight smiled back to Jazz, though there was less shining enthusiasm than before, less light reaching his optics. Bluestreak followed Blaster and Smokescreen, both refusing to look at Starscream as the Seeker stood off to the side, across from Prowl and holding his stare as the mech's passed between them.

Kup shoved Hot Rod, pushing him forward and between Prowl and Starscream. Hot Rod shot Starscream a murderous glare as he trudged through, still gripping his laser rifle tightly. Springer followed, hesitating only slightly and not deigning to glare at Starscream. Kup sighed, following both upwards and past Ratchet, still standing at the doorarch.

Prowl squinted his optics as he stared back at Starscream. "You seem surprised."

"That you would defend me? Of course." Starscream's lipplates curled upwards.

"You have not let me down so far. Despite myself, I find myself trusting you… marginally." Prowl fixed Starscream with another harsh glare as the Seeker's lipplates separated in shock. "I also never thanked you for bringing Jazz back alive." Prowl continued softly.

Starscream didn't answer. His optics squinted, slitting, before turning sharply away from Prowl and stalking up the incline, disappearing into their shelter. Prowl followed a moment later, stopping to stand next to Ratchet as the medic stared outwards, optics fixed on Sunstreaker as his lipplates pressed into a firm line.

Sunstreaker stood apart, facing outwards and gazing across the bare surface of Cybertron, fingers reflexively gripping and ungripping the handle of his rifle. His frame was tense, stiff, radiating tension and rage.

"Sunstreaker," Prowl called.

Sunstreaker's helm turned slightly, tilting downwards and towards his shoulderjoint, a bare acknowledgement of Prowl's voice.

"Let's get inside." Prowl waited until Sunstreaker turned, slowly, several astroseconds later, meeting Prowl's optics with his darkly lit, dangerous ones, staring outwards from unmoving, cold faceplates. He started moving forward, refusing to look at Ratchet.

Prowl flicked a quick, meaningful glance to the medic before turning inside. Ratchet waited at the doorarch as Sunstreaker slowly trudged up the incline. The gears in his throat seized, refusing to operate, to move. His glossa lay flat and useless in his mouth. Trepidation and resentment rolled off of Sunstreaker in impenetrable waves.

"Are you alright?" Ratchet harshly choked out, just before Sunstreaker brushed by him, twisting to avoid any contact with the medic's armor.

"Fine." Sunstreaker's vocalizer ground out, harsh and deadly, passing by the medic on his way inside.

The group had assembled around the main room, the Seekers pushing back up against the far wall and grouped together, Fireflight huddling near to Thundercracker and Skywarp. Bluestreak collapsed down against the end wall, exhausted and drained. Jazz and Prowl stood near the center, watching as Kup, Springer, Hot Rod, Blaster and Smokescreen filled in, bracketing themselves on the other side of the room.  
Sunstreaker and Ratchet entered last, Sunstreaker pushing himself back against the inner wall and starting to disassemble and fastidiously clean his laser rifle, piece by piece. Ratchet leaned backwards just inside the doorarch, optics following Sunstreaker further inside.

Starscream in his usual arrogant manner started their proceedings entirely on his own. "What have you stolen from Shockwave? That freighter was supposed to be operational cycles ago."

Springer and Hot Rod bristled around Kup. "We've prevented the completion of a critical component of Megatron's planned destruction of the Autobot forces." Hot Rod interjected. "Sorry it disrupted your plans."

Kup frowned down at Hot Rod. "We've been operating up here on our own for a long time. Before you all came back, all we knew about what was happening was Megatron needed that ship. On time."

Starscream frowned at the emphasis, and the glare in his direction.

Springer shifted, frowning at Starscream in return. "Aren't you the 2nd in command? Don't you know their construction plans for that freighter?"

"I have my suspicions, however I wasn't considered 'trustworthy.'" Starscream sneered back. Megatron had kept Starscream and Shockwave separated, nurturing vorns of suspicions and hatred amongst the two. Each scientist kept to their own plans, their own devices, their own mysterious and mischievous tactical advantages. Megatron had the pick and choice of both, idly playing one against the other as he saw fit.

"Ironic, wouldn't you say?" Smokescreen arched his optic ridges to Blaster, as the two shared a private glance.

"Enough." Prowl stepped forward, Jazz standing immediately to his right. "Kup, stealing that freighter is an integral part of our joint operations with Prime on Earth. We need it to be working."

Springer bristled. "Do you have any idea how many Wreckers we lost securing those components from Shockwave?"

Prowl and Jazz turned to Springer, Jazz's faceplates stretched uncomfortably. "I am very sorry for your losses," Prowl began. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need those components installed and operational within the freighter. Now."

Springer's vents hissed, stepping forward as his optics flashed. "How dare you throw away their sacrifice…" he hissed.

"Springer!" Kup shouted. "That's enough!" Springer barely stepped backwards, refusing to break his hold on Prowl's optics.

"I am not trying to cheapen their dedication, or any of your actions here on Cybertron." Prowl let his optics drag over each of the tired faceplates of the five Resistance team members. "But as I have always understood your leadership, Springer, you've instilled within your mechs a sense of sacrifice, of working towards the greater good." Prowl stepped forward, well within Springer's personal space. "Right now, the 'greater good' demands that we fix, and then steal, that freighter. We have to get back to Earth with it."

Springer breathed heavily, vents whirring as he tried to stare down Prowl, tried to beat back the uncomfortably true words the Enforcer spoke. Each of his Wreckers had offlined knowing, down to their sparks, that they had contributed to the greater good, the whole of Cybertron, to freedom throughout the galaxy and away from Decepticon oppression and tyranny. But what about when the route to freedom switches back, doubles back over battles already won? What about when a warrior, already having valiantly sacrificed his life, is asked to sacrifice his memory, reverse his actions against the Decepticons? What then?

For Prowl, the decision was easy. He was too far removed, to distant from the battles they fought, each cycle, for energon, land, beacons, or for life. Too far removed from the Wreckers, scattered in cells and squads across the planet, though still functioning as one unit.

For Springer, each of their losses was a keen blow to his spark, a fracture to his whole. He fought on for them, for each and every one of his fallen comrades. Denying their sacrifice was anathema, entirely, to Springer.

"Perhaps," Thundercracker interjected. "You could enlighten us all as to just what it is you've stolen?"

Five pairs of optics, each of the Resistance team members, swiveled to stare at the Seekers. Starscream stepped forward, holding their stare at the silence settled over the room.

"Starscream will be consulted when we make our plans to break in there," Jazz interjected. "Speak freely."

Springer and Hot Rod shared a sharp look as Kup cleared his vocalizer. "Shockwave has been building a portable Space Bridge engine. It's experimental, it's barely stable. But it's on that freighter." Kup paused as Starscream hissed, frowning and shaking his helm. "When that freighter is complete, it can go anywhere, at any time, without relying on two bridged ends of a jump. The power shift that could give to the Decepticons…" Kup trailed off.

"It wont be finished though," Springer interjected again, glaring across at Starscream, still scowling darkly. "The Wreckers intercepted the mining vessel returning from Kalis with the refraction crystal for the drivetrain. We have it. Secure." Springer tossed one last scathing look in Starscream's direction.

"Is that all the freighter is missing?" Prowl asked.

"All?" Hot Rod's mouthplates dropped open. "All? Do you have any idea how many Wreckers we lost securing that crystal?"

"Again, I don't doubt their sacrifice, Hot Rod." Prowl crossed his arms, frowning slightly. "I need to know just how much you have sabotaged their construction. I need to know just how long we have to get that ship operational, then break in, steal it, and get back to Earth to assist the rest of the Autobots."

"What about us?" Hot Rod cried. "We've been up here all alone for vorns! You haven't come back to help us!"

"Hot Rod…" Kup's warning tone slowly unfolded.

Springer stared hard at Prowl. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, that's all we have."

"Comms traffic estimates that they've got another full cycle of work to do before it's all up and running, provided they either recover the crystal or their replacement works." Blaster spoke up, gravely vocalizer pitched gently across the room, leaning against the wall next to Smokescreen.

"Replacement?" Jazz folded his arms as well, standing next to Prowl and frowning.

"It's an artificial construct. The purity is off. They already know it wont work," Blaster replied.  
Hot Rod wasn't budging. He turned back to Kup, the old warrior's faceplates frowning along with Springer's. "We've been staying one step ahead of the 'Con's for vorns, barely holding our own up here! We're one cycle ahead of them now, with their freighter down. This is ourchance! Our moment!"

Springer sighed as Prowl frowned across at Hot Rod again. "No, Hot Rod," Springer said tiredly, shaking his helm. "The fight isn't here anymore. This isn't the front." He stared harshly over to Prowl.

Prowl turned to Springer, the two sharing a long look before Prowl turned back to Kup. "We need that crystal back in Shockwave's hands."  
Kup exhaled forcefully, not meeting Prowl's optics.

Smokescreen spoke up, leaning next to Blaster. "We can't make that decision on our own. We've got to contact Ultra Magnus in Iacon."

The rest of the conversation faded away from Ratchet's audials. Dimly, he was aware of Blaster keying his receptors into their own coded, pirated frequencies, raising Ultra Magnus and his team in Iacon. The whole story was relayed again, Jazz and Prowl now so used to telling it that they barely stumbled, quickly summarizing the details and finer points in a succinct message for Ultra Magnus to digest.

Ratchet stole silently along the inner wall to Sunstreaker, crouching down and gazing into his profile. Sunstreaker kept the rhythmic cleaning and polishing of his rifle going, soft movements mechanically worked over the smooth metal bores continuously. Sunstreaker didn't acknowledge his presence.

After a long moment, Ratchet sighed, reaching for his subspace toolkit. "Let me get this off of you," he breathed, reaching out for the Decepticon signals beacon still attached to Sunstreaker's neck collum.

Sunstreaker flinched backwards as Ratchet's hand grazed his shoulder joint, barely passing over his armor. His optics flashed, startled out of his reverie, his methodical cleaning and polishing. Ratchet frowned. "It's only me, Sunny."

Sunstreaker still didn't acknowledge him, merely arched his neck collum stiffly, barely granting the medic easier access to his junction, easier access with which to work. Ratchet noticed Sunstreaker's hands balling into fists, no longer disassembling his rifle, and shaking slightly in his lap. Ratchet worked quickly, in silence, no longer casually touching Sunstreaker's armor or balancing himself against the twin's backstruts. Those innocent touches of the past were now overloaded with meaning, too tempting to endure.

As soon as Ratchet removed the last bolt securing the beacon to his external armor, internal wires disconnected, Sunstreaker hastily stood, brushing past Ratchet and striding quickly for the doorarch, for the exit. He didn't say a word to anymech.

"This is slag!" Hot Rod called, voicing his final, bitter protest over Blaster's transmission.

Ultra Magnus sighed. "I'm afraid I agree with Kup and Springer on this one, Hot Rod. We must support Prowl, and Prime, and the rest of the Autobots. Springer…" Ultra Magnus paused, hesitated. "Can you order your Wreckers to release the crystal?"

Springer offlined his optics briefly before nodding. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Ultra Magnus's disembodied voice rose from Blaster's speakers. "Let's make sure they release it where the Decepticons can easily find it. Sounds like we don't have much time."

Springer nodded again. "Of course, sir."

"And Hot Rod?" Hot Rod turned frowning faceplates towards Blaster, as if Ultra Magnus could see the viciousness of his scowl through the airwaves. "I expect you to comm me back telling me you are the proud new owner's of that freighter."

Hot Rod's lipplates twitched upwards, slightly. He didn't vocalize a response.

"Prowl?"

"Yes, Ultra Magnus?" Prowl tilted his helm, standing in a semi circle around Blaster and next to Jazz and Kup, Springer off to the side.

"Tell Optimus Prime I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Prowl's vocalizer was full of confusion.

Ultra Magnus sighed. "It's been… rough up here. I wish you had all come back to a better Cybertron."

"We're still working on that battle, Magnus. Together." Prowl's tone spoke of finality, of rejoining alliances and renewing ties. Kup and Springer both looked to him, optics appraising the Enforcer and his words.

"Understood." Ultra Magnus's voice rang out, clear. "Lets get this going then."

Sunstreaker stood outside their hideout, vents whirring and energon thundering through his lines. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, he wanted to tear apart the shelter they were hiding in with his bare hands. He wanted to destroy, to devastate physically just as the pain inside was destroying, devastating his spark.

He inhaled deeply, shakily, trying to calm the rushes coursing through his lines. It didn't do anything.

Ratchet's faceplates swam in front of his optics, the mixed expressions of shock, horror and confused wonder warring across his features. His optics had shown too brightly, piercing into Sunstreaker's own as his red hands had faltered, stopped their cleansing touch. Then that look, that look, had come, pinning Sunstreaker in place as Ratchet had escaped to Prowl's side.

It was all he could do to flee, to rush out of that medbay, and away from Ratchet's look.

Ratchet had always known, in his processor, who and what Sunstreaker was. He was a warrior, a frontliner. He came back to the Ark from battles with the Decepticons due to the strength of his servos and the force of his actions. He was there, in the battle, grappling hand to hand with the mechs and 'bots of the other faction. He came back missing limbs, energon stained, dented, scorched, and burned. He was exactly what he was.

But Ratchet had never seen, with his own optics, just in front of him, the actions Sunstreaker had to take to end another mech's life. To terminate another. The placement of hands, of fingers, digits stretched or strengthened together, a kick, a tear, a stab. So many different way, different moves, to destroy, to damage their fragile, sensitive selves.

This time, it had been done in kindness, in the rush of action and emotion that Sunstreaker couldn't identify from whence it came. The same place that his feelings for Ratchet, or for his brother most likely came from, if he were to truly think on it. The mech was dead. Irreparable damage had been done to his spark, agonizing, irreparable damage.

Thundercracker had understood. Sunstreaker certainly didn't expect the blue Seeker, a Decepticon, to assist him, but Thundercracker had fallen forward, leaning his body weight down on top of the mech to help hold him down, help stop his struggles. Thundercracker had tried to explain to Skywarp, tried to tell him that Thundercracker would want the same done for him, in that situation. Or done for Skywarp, if the purple Seeker were in such agony.

Sunstreaker hoped that some cycle, when his time came to offline permanently, that another mech would help usher his passing across with the same sort of assistance, if it were to be a painful crossing. If he had his choice, he'd much rather offline on the medberth, Ratchet's faceplates over his, red hands squeezing his own, but his life, his choices, didn't necessarily encourage that sort of ending. Far more likely was a violent sort of end, just like the violent life he lived.

Sunstreaker had no apologies for his life, for his actions. He was the mech he was due entirely to the actions, the choices he'd made and had made for him. Violence had always been a part of his life, inseparable and inescapable. He'd learned, early, to survive within it. It fueled him, fired him, kept him alive. He understood his life in a series of violent events, both before and after the Ark, with and without his brother, in battle and without.

And then Ratchet had come into his life.

Ratchet had upended everything, entirely, from its understood and rationalized place. Sunstreaker had his role; he had his position. He was the mech to go to for death, for violence, for rage and hatred unleashed upon the enemy. He was barely tolerated outside of battle, barely acknowledged as being an Autobot, at least in the beginning. Sideswipe, his brother being the far more social of the two, had wormed his way into the crews' social sphere, despite the looming specter of his brother's presence, his persona. It took time, vorns and vorns of time, for Sideswipe to patiently beat down both the Autobot's and Sunstreaker's walls to allow them to briefly come together, to see their qualities, and to possibly, potentially, lower the divide between them.

It had worked, marginally. The Ark was the closest place Sunstreaker could call a home, the mechs there the only crew that had finally acknowledged his presence. He wasn't entirely welcomed, wasn't desired, but he was acknowledged.

And by Ratchet, he'd been accepted.

Being near Ratchet, just as being near his brother, had unfolded within him a tiny piece of himself, a piece he'd thought lost, long ago, before the war. A calmer, peaceful part of his spark, of his processor, not so entirely full of violence and doubt, of anger and resentment. It was a place he had once basked in, enjoyed so thoroughly as his own, creativity springing forth from the wellspring within him of this feeling, this cherished and guarded feeling.

But now… now that was all gone. Destroyed. Devastated. Ratchet had seen, acknowledged, with his own optics, what Sunstreaker was, the mech he truly was. His look of shock, of horror, of wonderful confusion had stayed with Sunstreaker, melting over and through and around all his previous memories, his previously closely guarded and cherished memories of the two of them, their interactions, their contact. It bled through, staining the memories of just that cycle, the easy, equal respect they had come across, trading stories back and forth and enjoying each other's presence.

Those momengs had been a reprieve for Sunstreaker, a blessing, a shining moment where he knew, truly knew, he was worth something to another mech. Just as he was.

Except that was a lie; 'just as he was' was violently, viciously showcased just joors later, Primus's sense of humor pervading Sunstreaker's life yet again. He didn't regret his actions, didn't wish to deny the dying and pained mech a safer, softer, faster passage out of their world.

He simply wished that he could be the mech that Ratchet wanted. That he could be more, for Ratchet. Be the mech that Ratchet thought he had been. Be the mech that Ratchet hoped he had been working with, all those joors. Sunstreaker was proud, too proud, of his life, of the life he had carved for himself and his brother, with his own hands and servos. It worked, it worked very well. But it still didn't change the fact that he wanted more, more from it, more in it. He wanted that acceptance, purely and unconditionally, wanted that something back inside of himself that would complete him.

He had been finding it in Ratchet, in his company, within his friendship, within his unassuming care and concern.

But now, all Sunstreaker could see, all he could feel, was the too-shocked look in Ratchet's eyes, the startled jump of Ratchet's frame, and the too-quick extrication from his fingers of Ratchet's hands. Ratchet was keeping his distance now, far away from Sunstreaker. The light touch of his hands against his armor when Ratchet removed the beacon had been nearly too much; all he had wanted was to reach out, to grab the medic and pull him down, to whisper to him again and again that this was him. This was Sunstreaker. Didn't Ratchet know that? Didn't he?

He wanted to scream, again, as the pressure increased, building over and over inside his chest, inside his spark. Ratchet had tried for so long to get him to open up, to release the burning, raging, blinding pressures in his chest, eating away at his spark. He finally had, letting go and finding solace in the company of the medic as he hadn't since before the war began. It all now poured back in, tumbling and cascading through his systems once more, thundering into his spark.

Sunstreaker inhaled shakily again, Ratchet's faceplates swimming once more in his optics.

Kup, Springer, Blaster, Jazz, Prowl and Starscream all disappeared into Jazz and Prowl's side room, the most private space within their hideout. The five crowded around the bouncer's flatbed, Blaster transforming once more to raise both the Wreckers and Ultra Magnus again on separate frequencies. They needed to plan, finally together, the breaching of Shockwave's compound and the theft of that freighter.

Skywarp and Thundercracker sat together, leaning backwards against the far wall with both hands tightly entangled. Skywarp was leaning his helm sideways against Thundercracker's shoulder vent. Something had finally burst in Thundercracker's chest, a too-tightly wound ball of emotion, at seeing Skywarp standing so close and yet so very far. The purple's Seeker's optics had changed, no longer angrily accusing Thundercracker of unspeakable evil, but had turned to frightened hurt, brought on after seeing Thundercracker find comfort and solace in the arms of another flyer. In Fireflight's arms.

It had been Fireflight who brought Thundercracker back to Ratchet, joors after they had both silently sat together, arms wrapped tightly around each other's frames. It was Fireflight who stayed with Thundercracker as Ratchet repaired his heel thruster, a painful and uncomfortable procedure for all flyers. It was Fireflight who had helped him limp out of the medbay, again, and back to the main room to rest.

How had it got this way? How had their trine come so utterly apart? Skywarp couldn't follow it, the path of degradation. Starscream had always been an arms distance away, always just slightly out of reach of their intimate connection. It had never been this focused though, this entirely out of control. Since Starscream's opening of his end of the bond with Skywarp he'd been unable to entirely rebuild his blocked off walls. Skywarp felt, rolling inside his helm, his spark, the presence and essence of Starscream. A calculating, fiercely strong, dark force. It was untouchable; Skywarp kept far from it.

It wasn't as warm, or as comforting, as Thundercracker's presence, nurturing and reassuring within his self, enveloping Skywarp. When it was there. As Starscream had entered Skywarp's mind, his spark, Thundercracker had pulled out, retracting himself almost entirely from their bond.

Skywarp missed him, too strongly for words. He loved both his trinemates, loved both Thundercracker and Starscream equally, though they were entirely, entirely different. Starscream was their leader, unquestionably. He was strong, brilliant, fast. He guided their trine in the air and on the ground. Thundercracker was equally brilliant, in a completely separate way. Thundercracker thought, sometimes too much for a fighter, evaluating and understanding his actions, their actions, against the greater backdrop of the war, their lives, the universe.

Thundercracker had tried, for so long, to reach out to Starscream, both physically and over their bond, reaching for his trinemate again and again. In the beginning, when it had been good, and fun, and wonderful, Thundercracker and Starscream had been witty conversationalists, jabbering back and forth with their too-quick processors, optics flashing over their energon cubes. Skywarp was not nearly as smart as either of them, but enjoyed basking in the joined presence of their engaging conversations.

As the vorns ticked by, battles and war and escalations cycling through in an ongoing mess, Starscream had pulled away, pulled in deeper by Megatron and further from his trine. Thundercracker and Skywarp had always come together for comfort, for joining, and expected Starscream to follow. He never did. The long, drawn out vorns of the inexorable slow separation of their trine wore on and on.

What Skywarp hadn't expected, when Starscream had finally opened his bond to him, was the elusive threads of Starscream's processor recoiling from the feeling of Thundercracker within Skywarp. He recoiled, pulling back, holding back, intentionally, from anything and everything of Thundercracker.

Skywarp was being pulled, back and forth, within his spark between his two trinemates. Neither demanded of him, neither purposely requested him solely, or kept him from the other. But their own actions, their own entire divisions from the other left Skywarp in the uncomfortable position of loving both, while both recoiled from the other.

Seeing Thundercracker close to Fireflight had finally broken Skywarp. He dropped it all, let go of all the hurt, the pain, the bitterness, and just reached out again for his trinemate, his other half. Thundercracker had smiled to him, shakily, even as he remained sitting next to the young Aerialbot, Fireflight gently recharging.

Then Jazz had contacted Prowl, excitedly describing their escape and contact with the Resistance cell, now enroute back to their hideout. Thundercracker went to tell Ratchet, briefly squeezing Skywarp's hand as he passed by.

Now, they clutched together, leaning backwards and resting their tired, exhausted frames against the other, processors idle. It was too much, too confusing, to try to sort out at that moment. All they wanted was each other.

Skywarp hadn't missed Fireflight's landing in front of them both, stepping into the line of fire from Springer and Hot Rod's aim. Something had extended between Fireflight and Thundercracker, a measure of trust, the beginning tendrils of a friendship. He was surprised that that seemed to now extend to Skywarp as well. He certainly hadn't done anything to earn that. Fireflight now glanced sideways at them both, moving away and crossing the room to Bluestreak.

Fireflight settled down next to Bluestreak, the young Autobots quietly chatting together as Springer slipped from the back room, leaving the rest of the team to their planning. Hot Rod and Smokescreen looked up to him, optics bright as he crossed over, leaning backwards against the wall. "It's going to be big," he muttered to them both, curious as to the battle plans begin built by their now-joined leaders.

Springer's tired optics settled over Fireflight, sitting on the opposite side of the room, red and white paint shining brightly in the dim light. He shook his helm. "That's got to change…" he muttered again, pushing off the back wall and striding forward. They had all modified their paint jobs, slightly, adding the darker colors favored by the Decepticon forces, subduing the wild flashes of bright, brilliant color the Autobot's enjoyed. Even Hot Rod had subdued his wild paint job, deeper crimsons and burnt golds, as opposed to the sparkling brilliant colors of his original paintwork.

Springer crossed his arms, standing over the two young Autobots and looking downward. Bluestreak and Fireflight both looked back to him, wide optics staring upwards into Springer's smirking faceplates. "We have got to repaint you," Springer said, arching his optic ridges to Fireflight. "You stand out worse than Hot Rod."

Hot Rod's quiet snort sounded from the opposite wall as Fireflight gaped up at Springer, looking down and over his armor in surprise. "My paintjob isn't bad!"

"You need to blend in better here. You look like a regular Autobot extraordinaire. Guess that works well on Earth." Springer extended his hand downward to the young flyer. "I've got some paint for our own touchups and custom Decepticon paint jobs. Let's get you darkened."  
Fireflight sighed, then reached for Springer's hand and stood. Springer brought him to the center of the room, instructing him to stand quietly while he circled the Aerialbot's form, frowning slightly at the brightly colored paint.

Bluestreak sneaked sideways, quietly exiting the shelter hideout while everyone's attention was focused on Springer and Fireflight. Even Thundercracker and Skywarp were tiredly watching the two. Smokescreen and Hot Rod were trying to offer helpful suggestions, recommending paint colors for Springer to splash over Fireflight's form.

Bluestreak found Sunstreaker standing down the incline, behind the shelter, near the border of the bare surface. Sunstreaker was still, silent, staring out over the expansive metal surface of Cybertron with a far-away look, a sheen to his optics.

"Sunny?"

Sunstreaker didn't answer, a slight hitch in his ventilations the only acknowledgement he gave of Bluestreak's presence, his words.

"Are you alright?" Again, Sunstreaker didn't answer, didn't turn to Bluestreak, ignoring him entirely. Bluestreak sighed. "Springer is repainting Fireflight inside. He said Fireflight stands out too much here, that his paint is too bright. Sideswipe said once that you used to be an artist, used to paint and draw and stuff. I don't know if are interested, or want to at all, but you seem to kind of like Fireflight, I mean, you haven't threatened to rip his arms out or anything, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to repaint him? Instead of Springer?" Bluestreak finally finished, words trailing away and becoming lighter as he questioned the golden twin, the brother of his best friend. Sunstreaker hadn't ever been overtly nasty to Bluestreak, tolerating the presence of the talkative gunner around Sideswipe without his customary scowl.  
Sunstreaker still didn't answer, didn't move, didn't acknowledge Bluestreak's words, his existence. Bluestreak waited a moment, watching Sunstreaker's profile for any reaction. He received none. Finally, he sighed again, then turned to head back inside. "You sure you're okay, Sunny…I mean, you seemed pretty relaxed earlier, and it was nice seeing you that way. What happened?" Bluestreak wasn't entirely expecting an answer to the quiet question he asked as he left, but still waited an astrosecond, just in case.

Sunstreaker didn't answer, again, and Bluestreak continued back inside.

Springer had pulled out several bottles of darkly colored paint from his subspace, shaking and uncapping each of them in a semicircle around Fireflight. He was instructing Fireflight to hold his arms up, elevated around his helm as Hot Rod and Smokescreen continued to offer ever more ridiculous paint scheme suggestions. Fireflight was protesting weakly, frowning at Hot Rod's wild ideas. Springer kept glancing sideways across to Thundercracker and Skywarp. Thundercracker had a small smile stretched over his faceplates, enjoying the show and the repartee, while Skywarp was frowning back and forth between Springer and his two mouthy resistance teammates.

Bluestreak had settled himself back down against the wall, watching the unfolding scene in front of him and trying to capture Fireflight's worried and frowning faceplates with his own reassuring smile when Sunstreaker's imposing form filled the doorarch, staring inwards across the room.

"If you paint him black with gold flames on his side it'll look like's already been hit and he's already crashing. They wont shoot at him then!" Hot Rod snapped, smirking.

"Shut up." Sunstreaker's dark voice cut through the room, surprising Hot Rod and Springer and causing each mech to turn surprised optics to the twin.

Sunstreaker stalked inwards, stopping in front of Fireflight and circling his form, the young flyer's arms still raised upwards. Fireflight's optics glowed, brightening as Sunstreaker passed by, inspecting his frame and then Springer's assembled paints with a critical eye.

"What are you doing?" Springer frowned, stepping backwards as Sunstreaker pushed by him, still circling Fireflight's frame critically.

"Are you going to paint me, Sunstreaker?" Fireflight asked quietly, optics bright. "I'd rather you do it." Fireflight twisted to look sideways at Springer. "I don't mean to be rude, but everyone on the Ark said Sunstreaker was an artist before the war." Sunstreaker reached a yellow hand out, catching Fireflight's chinplate and turning the flyer back around, squaring his frame again and staring down into his optics, hard.

Fireflight inhaled sharply. "They said you were really good," he whispered. Sunstreaker held his gaze for a moment, then kept circling the flyer, stopping once he was fully behind his frame, letting his optics linger over the downward sloping wings.

Springer stepped back again, rummaging in his subspace for the brushes he kept with the paints, small thin brushes for their own touchups and quick changes. He couldn't find them, couldn't feel their forms. "Hot Rod, do you have the brushes?"

"No. You keep them."

Springer sighed, turning to Sunstreaker, who had already picked up a bottle of the deep violet paint and settled himself behind the Aerialbot. Fireflight's optics were shifting, darting around the room and trying to see behind him, to see what Sunstreaker was about to do. Every other mech was leaning forwards, suddenly intrigued by the golden twin's action, the unexpected twist to Fireflight's new paintjob.

"Sorry, Sunstreaker, I can't find the brushes."

Sunstreaker grunted, dipping a long finger into the bottle and withdrawing it, the tip covered in purple paint. "Doesn't matter," he grunted. "This will be better." He set his finger to Fireflight's wing, inhaling shakily at the contact, before sliding it upwards in a long, strong line.

"No, no, no!" Starscream shook his helm as he slammed his blue hand down onto the bouncer's flatbed. "You are not listening to me!"

Kup snorted, rocking backwards on his feet. "These tactics have worked before, worked quite well in fact against your buddies up here."

"But they know them now," Starscream hissed, glaring at Kup across the flatbed. "They are expecting your attacks to follow this pattern. Do not expect Blitzwing to be stupid. Just because you have managed to catch their patrols off guard does not mean that the hanger will react the same way." Starscream inhaled deeply. "All of their defenses are going to support Shockwave's hanger. Your attack must be different, entirely, than anything they've seen before."

Jazz nodded as Kup frowned. "Screamer's right." He ignored the scathing glare Starscream shot his direction. "They didn' send any aid to that Decepticon raider party that cornered Blue an' me. Looks like they're pullin' all their strengths back to tha' compound and protecting that freighter."

Kup sighed as Springer slipped back inside the room, casting a strangely twisted smile back over his shoulders. "Do you have any intelligence you can share with us then, on how to breach that hanger?"

Starscream shifted his glare to Springer, now rejoining the group around the bouncer. "Direct force wont work." He arched his optic ridges at Springer. "Your Wreckers seem to enjoy mindless destruction with suicidal urges."

Springer bristled again, jaw cables clenching and tightening as he snapped back. "Want to know how many Decepticons we've terminated with that mindless destruction? We've taken many of your slag with us."

Starscream sneered as Prowl frowned between the two. He gestured to the data pad Jazz had brought out, visual displays of the compound, hanger and freighter rotating through the screen. "They have an adaptive guardshield built into the hangar's walls. You can see two of its reinforcing beacon emitters, here and here." Starscream indicated to an enlarged cross section of the images Jazz and Bluestreak had captured, pointing to two spots just at the edge of the frame. "The technology has learned, adapting and changing each time you strike it. It knows your tactics. It anticipates your own technology."

Jazz frowned as Kup spoke. "Can't we take out the connections? Break it from the main grid power supply?"

Jazz nodded. "It worked when we blasted out o' Shockwave's compound."

Starscream shook his helm. "No, it knows that attack now. It will expect it. It's learned how to defend against attacks from the hardware systems." Starscream peered down into the visual display, squinting as he watched the shimmer and shift of the guardshield, optics darting around the hanger's construction. "We're most likely looking at a double, or even triple reinforced internally housed guardshield mainframe. Attacking the hardware of the main grid wont do anything. It's not connected to the main grid." He looked up, back to Prowl. "We already know they have an independent generator. That hanger was the only thing online when the main grid was down."

Springer leaned forward, pressing his hands into the bouncer's flatbed. "There are entrance gates to the interior. Those have to be weak points."

Starscream nodded. "They are, in terms of the hardware constructive defenses. But its still not an access point into the guardshield."

Springer tilted his helm. "If we terminate the guards, can't we use their access codes to get inside?"

Starscream threw a scathing, bitter look across to Springer. "No, Autobot. I didn't realize your kind was so energon-thirsty." He sneered.

Kup grunted, cutting off Springer's angry retort. "Why not? They've got to get in too."

Starscream smiled slightly, ironically. "Trust is a hard-earned privilege among Decepticons, generally reserved for the Officer's. Guards and solders are given orders, taskings and instructions. They are never fully trusted with complete access to anything." He pointed downwards to the guard-gate passing by on the visual display of the data pad. "Even standing just there, they have no authorization to enter that hanger. That comes from a centrally located terminal, deep inside."

Prowl flicked his optics to Jazz before speaking up. "Is the guardshield connected to the Decepticon network in any way? Can Jazz hack into it and shut it down?"

Starscream shook his helm, glancing between Jazz and Prowl. Springer exhaled quickly, forcefully pushing himself backwards off the bouncer and crossing his arms over his chestplating. "You can't tell me that we can't blast our way through. If we blow the hardware and take down the emitters packed into the walls, that shield will have to buckle. It's got to have a hole somewhere."

"You're welcome to try," Starscream snapped. "Even with the loss of a bulkhead's worth of emitters, the rest of the shield will reinforce, pulsing outwards and down as it reenergizes and knits together stronger. If you're caught there as it extends downward, you will be electrocuted, fried and offline. Go right ahead!"

Springer and Kup sighed angrily as Jazz titled his helm, frowning. Prowl stared hard across at Starscream, optics squinting. Ultra Magnus's voice crackled from Blaster, echoing across their pirated signal. "You present a seemingly impossible situation, Starscream. What do you suggest we do?"

Starscream inhaled raggedly, raising his helm to meet Prowl's optics. The two stared into each other's faceplates for a long moment. "There's one thing they wont see coming." Starscream paused. "Me."

Sunstreaker exhaled shakily, leaning backwards and finally unfocusing his optics, glancing over the whole form of Fireflight and away from the final section he had covered in paint. Fireflight looked down at him with open mouthplates, optics wide with shock.

Thundercracker slowly stepped forward, having scooted to peer closer at Sunstreaker's paint job some time ago. "Wow," he murmured, advancing slowly. His optics squinted as he took in the still wet paint across Fireflight's back. "That's amazing." He turned surprised optics to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker briefly glanced back before shifting his optics back to Fireflight's frame. His fingers were each coated in a different paint color, palms and forearms covered in drips and streaks of multi-colored paint. Sunstreaker shifted, uncomfortable under the stares of the gathered mechs.

Skywarp joined Thundercracker behind Fireflight, appraising the young Aerialbot's new paint job. He waved his hand around the flyer's wings. "When he transforms, this will form an arrow." He glanced appreciatively back to Sunstreaker.

Fireflight now sported a dark, deeply dark paintjob, dark blues and violets intersecting in strong, firm lines. His wings carried both colors, while solid lines of blue dominated the violet streaks across his external backplating. On his front, small streaks and plates of deeper gold created flashes of brilliant color, forming an intricate pattern underneath his wings when he transformed to his alt mode.

Fireflight twisted, trying to see over his shoulder and down his wings, down his backplating. He frowned, trying to twist the other way, hands and arms still raised near his helm to avoid smearing his wet paint.

Thundercracker chuckled at the Aerialbot. "What are you doing?"

"I can't see!" Fireflight whined.

"Of course not, silly!" Thundercracker chuckled again. "It's all over your backplating."

Sunstreaker stood, holding his paint-smeared hands away from his frame. He watched Fireflight awkwardly, watched his comical twisting and Thundercracker's appraisal of the new paintjob.

Sunstreaker didn't fully understand what had compelled him to come back inside, to paint Fireflight as he did. The pressure had still been building within him, still curling around his spark and cascading through his internals when Bluestreak had come up behind him, asking quietly if he wanted to come inside, to paint.

Sunstreaker hadn't painted, hadn't set himself to pursue his art, his creativity, since the war had began and he and his brother had been dragged into the cascading destruction. He had set it aside, putting aside all his passionate pursuits while he threw himself into the war. It had seemed superfluous, entirely unnecessary, in the face of the complete destruction and shearing apart of their world. It was too far removed from who Sunstreaker needed to be, to survive.

Slowly, as time passed, the place inside of him that had nurtured his creativity, his artful, passionate side, faded away, suffocating beneath the pressures of the war, joining the Autobots, and protecting his brother.

He hadn't thought about his art in ages.

But when Bluestreak had come out to his side, as he was feeling the darkness and the anger, the overwhelming pain and pressures that had finally, furtively lifted from his spark and processor pour back in around him, he had reached out again, once more to the place within him that Ratchet had teased open, trying to recapture that elusive feeling for the last time.

Now, he stood in front of the still twisting Fireflight, desperately trying to see the results of Sunstreaker's handiwork as Thundercracker, Skywarp and Bluestreak all looked on in shocked wonder. He felt strangely empty, his processor floating somewhere in the vicinity of his spark, slowly operating in different colors, different shapes than he was used to.

Fireflight sighed again, frustrated as he twisted his helm, arching his backstruts to try to see one last time. "Everyone on the Ark talks about Sunstreaker's art, and now that he's finally painted something, me, I can't even see it!" He exhaled again as he scrunched up his faceplates, optics twisting over his shoulder.

Bluestreak, Thundercracker and Skywarp each smiled widely at Fireflight's faceplates, though their expressions turned to shock as Sunstreaker reached out with his hand, cupped lightly into a fist, and placed it delicately on Fireflight's helm, stilling the frenetic twisting of the Aerialbot.

Fireflight shot a glare upwards at Sunstreaker, frowning heavily and sighing sadly. His shoulders slumped even as he held his glare upwards to the golden twin. "Thank you, Sunstreaker," he mumbled. "I just wish I could see it."

Sunstreaker stared down at the Aerialbot, his processor still floating wildly out of control. Firelight sighed again and the expression on his face was so comical Sunstreaker couldn't hold back his spark's reaction. His lipplates twitched upwards, brief chuckle exploding from his mouthplates in a soft breath.

Bluestreak's optics boggled, staring at Sunstreaker. Fireflight twisted his own lipplates up softly. "Thank you," he whispered again up to Sunstreaker.

"I'll paint you something else," Sunstreaker said softly, gazing down into the Aerialbot's faceplates. He removed his hand, still resting sideways on the flyer's helm, and scooped up the nearly empty bottles of paint from the flooring. Firelight was staring at him with wide optics as Sunstreaker moved to the far wall, smoothing the clean side of his forearms over the bare plating, prepping the surface. He turned back to Fireflight, Bluestreak, Thundercracker, and Skywarp all standing behind the flyer still, all of them watching him in shock. "What do you want to see?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Home," Fireflight instantly whispered, longing and pain suffusing his tone, his frame slumping forward in quiet wanting.

"You are home," Skywarp said faintly, slight derisive edge to his tone.

"No," Fireflight whispered, hands still held up by his helm as he met Sunstreaker's optics. "Earth. The Ark."

Sunstreaker held Fireflight's gaze for a moment before nodding quietly, then turned back to the bulkhead. He pulled the darkly colored paints from the bottles again, fingers dipping into and withdrawing the deeply hued golds, greens, blues and violets, streaking them across the bulkhead in strong lines as he set to work.

Ratchet had heard the commotion, the quiet chuckles from Thundercracker from inside his medbay where he had retreated, hiding from the rest of the team with his own frustrations. He didn't expect to see, at all, the scene unfolding in front of him as he stood in the doorarch looking into the main room.

He leaned sideways, propping himself as he watched Sunstreaker work, watched the long lines of his arms, the quiet strength and patience in his servos, as the scene emerged before the group: the Ark, buried in the side of the volcano, aft end and rear thrusters jutting outwards into the center, paint edges blending into the smooth grey of the bulkhead used as the sky itself. The desert, unfolding in golds and slight greens, expanding outwards in splashes of color. Finally, silently, Sunstreaker painted four tiny specks, slight V's circling above the rising volcano.

Fireflight stepped forward, hands finally dropping from around his helm, and stood next to Sunstreaker, crouching down in front of the bulkhead. He breathed softly through his open and parted lipplates, optics shining brightly with too much emotion. Sunstreaker turned his helm as Fireflight approached, glancing upwards as Fireflight looked sideways, downwards, to Sunstreaker.

"What are those?" Fireflight pointed to the four specks, purple and blue mixed together on the back of Sunstreaker's palm to form the deepest color, near shadows, flying in a near formation around the tip of the volcano.

"Your brothers," Sunstreaker whispered back softly.

Fireflight exhaled, slowly, staring into Sunstreaker's optics for a long, long moment. The rest of the group held back, not daring to break the indescribable emotion that had settled amongst the group, within the room. "Thank you," Fireflight breathed, stepping forward to stare over the scene, the landscape, his home, complete with his brothers flying above the Ark, without him.

Sunstreaker stood, backing away from the mural and stumbling. Bluestreak, Thundercracker and Skywarp stared, both at Sunstreaker and the mural, their home on Earth vividly recreated and springing forth from the bulkhead in front of them. Fireflight settled down, sitting squarely in front of the mural and staring as Bluestreak quietly joined him, sitting down softly beside him.

Sunstreaker stood in the center of the room, entirely unbalanced. He had just painted again, twice in the space of a single joor, the images and techniques flowing from within him almost unconsciously, unknowingly. He had no idea where this came from, where this erupted from within him. He stood, staring dumbly back at Fireflight and Bluestreak, oddly swirling feelings of nothing floating again inside his self, paint smeared and streaked over armor plating as he held his arms awkwardly at his sides.

"You have paint all over you," Ratchet murmured from his side. Sunstreaker turned, slowly, staring into the smiling faceplates of the medic standing at his side. He stared, hard, into Ratchet's optics. "Let's get you cleaned up," Ratchet said again, gently reaching for Sunstreaker's upper arm with a soft touch, a bare brush of fingertips.

Sunstreaker obligingly followed Ratchet into the medbay area, leaving Bluestreak and Fireflight quietly sitting in front of his impromptu mural. Thundercracker and Skywarp slipped outside, out to the front of their shelter alone.

Ratchet steered the too-quiet Sunstreaker into his medbay area, guiding him to the medberth and setting him down. He grabbed the solvent from his stores, crossing back over to Sunstreaker still sitting, gazing into nothing, though now without the tempestuous air surrounding his frame.

Ratchet tilted his helm, smiling fondly down at Sunstreaker. "How did you get paint on your faceplates?" He chuckled, dipping a small, dirty rag into the solvent bottle, then reached out gently to rub at Sunstreaker's faceplates, over his cheekarches.

Sunstreaker offlined his optics under the touch, leaning into Ratchet's strokes. He didn't say anything, still swirling under the odd emotions rushing through his processor. He basked in the feeling of Ratchet so near to him, smiling down at him, gently touching him, letting go of the frustrations and worries of earlier, for the moment. There was too much emotion, too much feeling, rushing through his lines, through his processor. Too much had happened over this cycle.

"That was an incredible thing you just did, for Fireflight," Ratchet continued. He stroked down Sunstreaker's faceplate with the rag, wiping the last of the paint streaks from his dermal plating. "I've heard of your painting before, but thought you weren't doing it anymore."

Sunstreaker grunted finally as Ratchet moved down his frame, gripping the golden twin's forearms lightly and raising them up, inspecting the paint streaks and smears dotting the yellow armor. He smiled fondly, shaking his helm as he began to softly scrub away at the armor, rubbing the dark-hued paints from Sunstreaker's form.

"I haven't painted in a long time," Sunstreaker finally said softly, vocalizer losing the angry taint of his words prior.

"You're very good. Excellent, really." Ratchet continued to wipe at Sunstreaker's palms, rag dipping into the spaces between his yellow fingers, wiping all evidence of the paint from his digits.

"I didn't know if I could still do it." Sunstreaker dropped his left hand as Ratchet finished, obligingly raising the right for Ratchet's cleaning, his tender touches with the solvent covered rag.

Ratchet frowned, slowly rubbing the rag over the dried paint across Sunstreaker's forearm. "Why?" He quietly asked, dragging the rag down Sunstreaker's arms and into his palm, gently cradling the golden twin's wristjoint in his own red hand.

Sunstreaker didn't answer for a long moment. "My hands," he choked out, staring at the yellow digits encased in Ratchet's red palm. "I didn't know if they could… create anything again." Ratchet frowned, not looking into Sunstreaker's optics as he carefully wrapped each digit in the cloth, cleaning and polishing the intricately jointed yellow armor. Sunstreaker continued several astroseconds later. "I don't like my hands," he whispered.

Ratchet finally paused, stilling and looking into Sunstreaker's optics. It took Sunstreaker a long while to focus in on Ratchet, staring outwards from far away, drawing his gaze inwards, up to Ratchet's faceplates. Ratchet still held Sunstreaker's right hand in his own, though he wasn't stroking it clean anymore, just holding it, gripping it loosely in his upturned palm.

Sunstreaker spoke again, haltingly, the unknown and oddly felt emptiness pressing him forward, encouraging him to talk, to reach outward to Ratchet as he normally refused to, normally keeping himself bottled up tightly. "Everything I do, I do with these hands. I destroy. I injure. I kill." He stared upwards into Ratchet's faceplates, holding his gaze harshly, finally fully focused in.

Ratchet stared back, gripping down on Sunstreaker's hand tightly. He reached forward, setting the cloth down on the medberth beside Sunstreaker and grabbing his left hand, lying loosely in his lap. Ratchet raised them both, clutching them together in front of his chestplates. "No, Sunstreaker. You defend. You protect. You create. With these hands." Ratchet squeezed both tightly for emphasis, gripping them both between his own red ones. "How many times have you saved your crewmates? Your brother? All of us?" He sighed, looking down into Sunstreaker's faceplates. "What you did this cycle was a good thing," Ratchet whispered.

Sunstreaker stared, too hard, into Ratchet's faceplates. He frowned, confusion marring across his faceplates, warring in his optics. He swallowed, gears in his throat slowly rising and falling as they twisted, turned inside his neck collum. "I don't regret it," he finally choked out again. "I know I did the right thing. But…" he trailed off, optics seizing Ratchet's own once again. "I thought you didn't think so."

"You did more than any of us could have, Sunny. More than I could have." Ratchet held Sunstreaker's gaze, the yellow twin shifting underneath his look uncomfortably, though still leaving his hands limply in Ratchet's grip. "The strength it took, for you to do that…" Ratchet shook his helm. "I am in awe of you, Sunstreaker."

Later, Ratchet would write his actions off as exhaustion, as too much stress and energy and excitement crammed into too little a time period. Too much revelation, too much sensory input, to think properly. All he knew at the time were Sunstreaker's naked faceplates gazing up at him, mouthplates slightly parted in surprise as his optics danced over Ratchet's own faceplates, an indefinable sheen to his optics radiating outwards, capturing Ratchet in their tightly wound emotions.

Ratchet lifted Sunstreaker's hands, still jointly held in his own, up to his faceplates. He held Sunstreaker's optics, carefully, not moving an inch as he brought the yellow fingers closer to his mouthplates. He breathed out gently, whispering Sunstreaker's name as he finally, gently, deposited tiny, fragile kisses, mere pecks of his lipplates, onto the yellow digits of Sunstreaker's hands. "Your hands, just like you, Sunny, are perfect."

There was no mistaking the sharp intake of air, nor the surging lust that illuminated Sunstreaker's optics.

"You have got to be out of your processor!" Kup shook his helm at Starscream as Springer stared, mouthplates slack, after Starscream revealed his tentative plan.

"He is right," Prowl said, arms still crossed in front of his chestplates as he stared at Starscream with a glint in his optics. "They certainly wont see that coming."

"You can't be serious," Springer growled. "You'd trust him to go inside a Decepticon stronghold, back with his friends, and not betray us?"

"We've been back t' Decepticon strongholds before together," Jazz spoke up. He shared a brief look with Starscream, each remembering their flight from Starscream's lab. "He never betrayed us there."

"This is entirely different," Kup said, glaring at Starscream across the flatbed. "You're asking us to put the entire operation, the entire mission, in his hands. Starscream's hands," Kup added for emphasis, ignoring the sneer Starscream cast in his direction.

Prowl shifted, stepping back from the bouncer and walking around the outer edge of the group. "I believe him," Prowl started, ignoring Kup and Springer's angry snorts of disbelief as he began to circle the bouncer. "If he wanted to betray us, to turn us into the Decepticons, he'd risk far more than just his own neck." Prowl continued forward, optics rising to meet Starscream's own as he continued slowly stalking around the circle. "You will turn yourself into the Decepticon's, offering yourself up as a wanted fugitive in exchange for information." Prowl stalked forward, repeating Starscream's plan back to him. "Once inside, once you're back in Blitzwing's tender mercies, you will drop the guardshield for our two teams, waiting outside." Prowl stopped in front of Starscream, the red Seeker turning to face him to faceplates. "Just how do you expect to do that?"

"Knowing Blitzwing, he'll be entirely ready to believe anything I say, in order to rush back to Shockwave with some sort of victory. I can wrap him around my fingers easily." Starscream gazed back into Prowl's optics.

"And if that doesn't work." Prowl pressed harder.

Starscream inhaled, shifting against his feet. "My trine recovered a significant stockpile of explosives. I can smuggle them in and set them off."

Springer leaned backwards on his heels, arms crossed over his chestplates as his faceplates twisted in shock. "You would explode the compound? Destroy your fellow Decepticons?"

Starscream and Prowl both turned to Springer, optics shining in the low light. Starscream spoke, Prowl's helm shifting to stare back into the Seeker's profile as he did so, optics darting over and around the Seeker's helm. "We need that freighter."

Jazz spoke up from his position around the flatbed. "If you needed to resort to the explosives, there's no guarantee that you could survive that blast."

"I've survived far worse." Starscream held Jazz's gaze.

"Enough to get to the guardshield generator? Or the control room?" Kup peered across to Starscream.

"Yes." Starscream nodded. "But, we wont have to resort to that. I know Blitzwing."

"So do we," Kup interjected.

Starscream ignored the interruption. "He wont turn down an opportunity to advance himself through my offers to share intelligence. He wont." Starscream glanced at the disbelieving optics of Kup and Springer, Blaster now transformed back to his root mode and leaning backwards against the wall, optics dim. "You wanted my assistance, my intelligence. This is what you've got!"

Prowl inhaled deeply, speaking to Starscream directly. "Your plan has a decent beginning, Starscream. Getting you inside the compound, inside the hanger, is a must. So is shutting down the guardshield from the inside. I don't like your tactics though; explosives and tank-deep feelings have gone very wrong before." Prowl turned to Jazz with a sly slip to his lipplates. "We need something more. Something entirely failsafe." Jazz tilted his helm curiously to Prowl, frowning slightly behind his visor. "Something that can't be beaten," Prowl smirked.

Sunstreaker gasped, not believing his optics.

Ratchet froze, optics piercing too-widely down into Sunstreaker's openly lustful faceplates. He inhaled sharply, still holding the golden twin's hands up near his mouthplates, vents breathing across the digits. "Sunny?" he whispered, unsteadily.

Sunstreaker tried to jerk his hands from Ratchet's grip, suddenly looking away, looking down, gasping again as he tried to jerk back. His servos wouldn't respond, his joints were slick, too slick. He was too weak to pry his fingers from Ratchet's suddenly too-tight grip. "Don't, Ratchet," he growled, looking down and breathing heavily.

Ratchet couldn't move. He gripped Sunstreaker's hands tighter, energon pounding through his lines, surging in his frame. His vents came in deep pulses, fast and open-mouthed. "Don't what?" he whispered again, dropping his helm to Sunstreaker's hands again, risking everything, gambling everything, in one more kiss to Sunstreaker's fingers, this time letting his shaking lipplates linger over the jointed knuckle.

Sunstreaker dragged a shaky inhalation inwards, optics surging overbright as he tried, so hard, to strangle the moan fighting to escape from his vocalizer. He stopped nearly all of it, only letting a grunt, a small groan, escape from between his lipplates. "Ratchet…" he growled, rolling his helm upwards and dragging his optics to meet Ratchet's, burning too bright with lust, with need, with pleading desire bursting from within. "Don't," he started, grunting again and gasping as Ratchet dropped another kiss onto his fingers, each still holding the other's optics. "If you're not serious…" Sunstreaker hissed a ragged breath through his gritted denta as Ratchet raised his helm from his fingers, squeezing the digits and running his thumbs across the flatness of Sunstreaker's palms. "You need to stop."

Ratchet's optics burned into Sunstreaker's, filling with light and energy pulsing outwards. "When have you ever known me to not be serious?" he whispered, breathy gasps escaping his lipplates in wonderment, gazing down at the golden twin, at Sunstreaker, who seemed to be gazing upwards to him, optics shimmering overfull in lust. For him. For Ratchet.

Sunstreaker searched Ratchet's faceplates, optics darting over and across his optics, his mouthplates, his lipplates, searching back upwards to stare into his optics for a long moment, even as his breaths came in shaky gasps. Ratchet waited, breathless, unmoving, still holding Sunstreaker's hands. Waiting. Waiting for Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker suddenly found his strength again, tearing his hands from Ratchet's grip with a growl. His optics blazed as he reached forward, dragging Ratchet around his waistplating and into his arms, burying his faceplates against the medic's windshield. His hands encircled Ratchet, roaming and stroking over his frame, over his backstruts, across his armor.

Ratchet gasped audibly, falling forward as he was pulled into Sunstreaker's grip. His red hands fell to Sunstreaker's shoulders, instantly rubbing, petting, stroking the golden armor beneath him. He felt Sunstreaker's hands on his own armor, felt the breathy gasps across his windshield. Ratchet groaned, optics dimming. "Sunstreaker…" he whispered.

Sunstreaker pushed Ratchet backwards, golden hands resting on the medic's hipplating and holding him slightly distant as he gazed upwards into Ratchet's faceplates, lipplates parted and panting. His glossa slipped out, lubricating his lipplates with a soft sheen. Ratchet's own followed, lubricants slipping against his own lipplates. Sunstreaker moaned at the sight, panting harder, deeper. Their optics fixed into the other's gaze.

Sunstreaker raised his hands, slowly, softly sliding them up the medic's armor plating, upwards across his red hips, his white windshield frame, fingers barely ghosting across the cool glass surface. Ratchet's vents hitched, panting at the contacts, the tiny firestorms ignited against his armor underneath Sunstreaker's touches. Sunstreaker's hands continued upwards, sliding across his shoulderjoints before rising up to his neck collum, gently cupping his white helm in a soft embrace.

Sunstreaker exhaled, gasping, as his fingers, his hands, closed around the medic's helm. Ratchet gazed down at the still seated twin, optics raging with desire, with passion, with need. Sunstreaker couldn't speak, couldn't react, gazing upwards and frozen immobile. His glossa slipped out again, re-lubricating his lipplates that had grown dry from his panting exhalations.

Ratchet moaned at the sight again, then leaned forwards, red hands shakily rising to stroke two fingers against Sunstreaker's cheekarch tenderly. His helm dropped level to Sunstreaker's, optics staring into the others, lipplates inches apart, vents and pants sharing the same air. Sunstreaker licked his lipplates again. Ratchet felt the golden twin's shaking, his trembling, all the way in the twin's hands cupping his helm. "Ratchet," Sunstreaker whispered. "Kiss me. Please."

Ratchet dove forward, need and desire burning through him, tearing and crashing through his spark at the words, at the tone, at the entirely forbidden image of Sunstreaker panting his name, asking him, Ratchet, to kiss him. His lipplates captured Sunstreaker's, seized the golden twin's with his own, perfectly melting against the other's in a swift, soft kiss.

Sunstreaker moaned into the kiss, the melting of their lipplates against the others, pulling Ratchet's helm deeper, tighter, hands roaming over the smooth white armor. He nipped back, sucking at Ratchet's lipplates as Ratchet's hands slid down his golden torso, red fingers whispering their longing in his gentle, tender caress.

Ratchet's hands slid forward, fingers circling the side windows on Sunstreaker's chestplating. Sunstreaker gasped, moaned into the kiss, breaking the fluid merging of their lipplates. Ratchet gasped backwards, vents sucking in oxygen before leaning forward to nip at Sunstreaker's lipplates and diving back in for another kiss, this time slipping his glossa out to swipe against Sunstreaker's lower lipplate, gently, before sucking it into his mouthplates.

Sunstreaker's optics flickered, offlining as his groaned. He growled, seizing Ratchet's helm and pulling the medic on top of him, dragging him forward onto the medberth. Sunstreaker laid backwards, Ratchet clambering forward inelegantly, sliding and scraping against the other as they tried to maneuver, tried to position themselves on the too small berthing. Ratchet ended up on top of Sunstreaker, supporting himself on his hands and kneejoints as he gazed downwards at the golden twin in shocked wonder.

Sunstreaker panted upwards, arms still encircling Ratchet's helm, hands rubbing and fondling the armor. His fingers dipped downwards, stroking against the cables in the medic's neck collum, rolling and rubbing them against his thumbs.

Ratchet moaned, leaning down to capture Sunstreaker's lipplates again, glossas immediately escaping and tangling together. Ratchet slowly, gently, lowered his body down onto Sunstreaker's, settling his weight softly against the golden warrior. He began to thrust, digging his hipplates down into the sensitive joints of Sunstreaker's waistplating, the junctions of his legs and groin plating.

Sunstreaker groaned, grinding upwards to meet Ratchet's thrusts, energy fields crackling and scraping against the other. They surged, friction and points of contact melting again and again in blissful electrical stimulation. Sunstreaker spread his legs wider, trying to give the medic more access, more points of contact. He wrapped one leg down around the medic's own white leg, the other splaying wide as his hands roamed downwards, dropping from Ratchet's helm and faceplates to his chest armor. His fingers flew, dancing over the medic's windshield, tracing the red crosses on his shoulder joints, squeezing and disappearing into the transformation seams at his arms.

Ratchet kissed Sunstreaker, pouring his long denied, even to himself, feelings into the action, into the sensation. He ground downwards, again and again, energy field pulsing and building at each friction point of contact. His hands caressed over Sunstreaker's helm, his faceplates, tenderly touching and stroking the black armor plating, the silver dermal plating. He groaned, leaning his helm down and against the twins own, silver chevron pressing flat against Sunstreaker's black helm, as Sunstreaker dug his fingers into the transformation seams in his sides, stroking and caressing the lines inside.

Electrical surges started building within each of them, within both of them, responding and building off the other's excitement, their desire, their need for the other. Ratchet poured himself back into their kiss, Sunstreaker arching upwards to meet his frenzied, passionate lipplates, his hungry glossa. Sunstreaker's hand's tried to be everywhere, tried to learn each and every part of Ratchet's body, his frame. Ratchet continued to grind downwards, Sunstreaker's one leg snaking up his own and gripping down tightly at Ratchet's waistplating, helping to surge their frames together, again and again.

Ratchet overloaded first, brilliantly, gasping Sunstreaker's name as he did so. The currents exploded, overcharged and cascading through his circuits. His energy field crackled, buckled against Sunstreaker's. Sunstreaker's overload started an astrosecond later, optics locked on the visual of Ratchet's faceplates, contorting in bliss and whispering his own name. He seized, trembling, underneath Ratchet, hands gripping down tightly against the medic's backstruts, dragging every inch of the medic down deeply into his own plating as he could.

Ratchet panted wildly, gasping for air as his cooling fans ticked over furiously, trying to cool his overheated, fiery internals. He gazed downwards, into Sunstreaker's faceplates, wonder and amazement stretched across his own. Sunstreaker looked back, faceplates brimming overfull with unshed, unspoken emotion.

Ratchet's lipplates stretched into a wide grin, optics crinkling with joy and delight. He sighed, offlining his optics and resting his chevron against Sunstreaker's shoulderjoint, leaning down forwards onto the golden warrior. He felt Sunstreaker sigh underneath him, then felt his hands encircle around him, resting gently and stroking across his backplating.

"This is so insane it just might actually work." Springer shook his helm as his lipplates curled upwards, slight smirk spreading over his features.

Starscream shook his helm slowly, wide optics staring into Prowl's own. "You're crazy," he breathed.

Prowl smirked, standing next to Jazz again as he shared a long look with his bondmate. "Coming from you, I will take that as a compliment."

"I think it's good." Kup nodded his helm. "Entirely different, entirely unexpected." He shifted his glance over to Starscream. "You wont betray us now. Not with what's at stake."

Starscream glowered across to Kup as his lipplates rose, snarling. "I wasn't going to before," he snapped.

Jazz turned to Blaster, still leaning back against the wall. "Blaster, let's get the Wreckers on the line." He smirked over to Starscream, the Seeker sighing heavily and folding his arms over his chestplating. "We've got a lot of work to do."

Thundercracker stood, gazing over the incline sloping downwards from their sheltering hideout, Skywarp crossing to stand behind him as he gazed out over the surface of Cybertron, across the thatched and knitted main grid exposed below and into the brightly lit spires of Kaon. He sighed heavily.

"Why do you fight, Skywarp?" Thundercracker didn't turn to his trinemate, vocalizer low and exhausted.

Skywarp frowned, moving alongside Thundercracker and staring into his profile. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you fight? Why do you do this?" Thundercracker turned his helm sideways, tired optics gazing into Skywarp's own confused pair.

"For the cause." Skywarp pressed ahead at Thundercracker's frown. "I believe Cybertron will be a better place when we're in control. When we don't have to fight the Autobots anymore. Their weakness will be gone." Skywarp stared at Thundercracker, an odd feeling unfolding inside his tanks. "Why do you fight?" he hesitantly asked.

Thundercracker refused to meet Skywarp's gaze, looking down instead, lipplates squeezing together. "I've been asking myself that for a while," he started, shifting his heel thruster against the ground. "I fought for our trine. For us. So we could all be together, be safe."

Skywarp nodded. "I fight for that too, of course."

Thundercracker sighed heavily. "No, 'Warp. That's all I fight for." He turned to stare into Skywarp's shocked form, optics burning a deep ruby set inside his dark faceplates. "Do you ever get tired of it all? Do you ever want to be weak, to just feel?" Thundercracker whispered.

"No," Skywarp hissed. "What are you saying?" He frowned heavily at his trinemate, swallowing around the sticking gears in his throat.

Thundercracker's optics searched Skywarp's faceplates, looking for something, searching for something Skywarp didn't know. He held his breath, only exhaling when Thundercracker finally turned away. "I fight for you, Skywarp. Only for you." Thundercracker's vocalizer was low, soft, trembling.

Skywarp reached his hand out shakily, tenderly touching Thundercracker's elbowjoint. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Thundercracker continued on after a long moment. "Without you, there's no reason for me to be here…"

"Starscream –" Skywarp tried to interject.

Thundercracker shook his helm. "It's not like you. I am only here for you. To be with you." His vocalizer had dropped to a whisper, an urgent, wrenching whisper, tearing the words from his processor almost against his will.

Skywarp was torn, entirely, between rage and anger, hurting against Thundercracker's betrayal, his tossing away of their entire lives, their dedications to the Decepticons, and his bursting, exploding spark, shattering under the force of Thundercracker's care, his concern, his deeply held feelings for his trinemate. He wanted to beat him, smack him, wrest his wings painfully, all while he wanted to kiss him, melt into his arms, beg Thundercracker to never ever let him go.

"What are you," Skywarp tried to begin, faltering. "What are you saying? If I'm not here, you'll be an… Autobot?"

Thundercracker chuckled, faintly. "No, Skywarp. I'm not wanting to be an Autobot." He turned to Skywarp, gazing into his optics again with that look, the too intense look of his. "I don't want to be a Decepticon either though." His voice was no louder than a whisper. "I only wantyou."

Skywarp offlined his optics, hands balling into fists. He shook, trembled with equal parts love and rage, burning through him with equal passion. "I am a Decepticon," he quietly spoke, not onlining his optics. "A loyal Decepticon," he added, finally onlining them to stare into Thundercracker's tired faceplates. "If you want me, you have to be a Decepticon too."

Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker closer, running his sensitive red hands up and down the silver vents behind Sunstreaker's helm. He lay on his side, pressed firmly against Sunstreaker's form, both clutching at the others armor and frame. Sunstreaker lay pressed up facing Ratchet, faceplates laying sideways against his windshield as his fingers drew lazily, unseen patterns across the glass.

"Do you have any idea how old I am?" Ratchet murmured, glancing down at Sunstreaker's black helm.

Sunstreaker paused his idle ministrations, looking upwards and catching Ratchet's soft smile cast down at him. He was still floating, still lost in the new sensations surrounding and swirling in his spark and processor, strangely and utterly empty and devoid of the pressures, the rages, the pains he'd held for so long. "Did you know those things inside Prowl and Jazz personally?"

Ratchet gasped, smiling in surprised shock. "No!" He reached out with his other arm, batting at Sunstreaker's hand on his windshield.

Slowly, with all the fractured speed and grace of a blooming rose, Sunstreaker smiled, lipplates stretched out across his faceplates in a tiny, teasing grin. "Did you know Kup as a sparkling?"

Ratchet's vents hitched, spark momentarily seizing up at the image of Sunstreaker's happy, mischievous grin. He smiled back, open-mouthplated, wrapped in the wonder of the gaze. "No, I did not," he finally said, interlacing his red fingers with Sunstreaker's yellow hand on his windshield.

Sunstreaker continued to gaze upwards at him, optics shining with a gentle glow. His smile faded, faceplates returning to their normal set, though there was a soft crinkling, a new, fond, edge to the golden twin's optics that hadn't been there prior. "You can't be that old then," Sunstreaker finally said, thumb stroking under and across Ratchet's red palm in their interconnected hands.

Ratchet smiled wryly down to Sunstreaker. "I'm still old enough to be your creator." He sighed ruefully. "I feel like a dirty old mech."

Sunstreaker didn't answer for a moment. "You're my dirty old mech." He pulled Ratchet hard against his body, gently removing his fingers from their intertwined grip and clutching at Ratchet's hand. His thumb continued to stroke against Ratchet's palm, slowly, whispering over the sensors and microgears of the medic's red hand.

Ratchet moaned softly, then stopped breathing altogether as Sunstreaker raised his hand to his mouthplates and slowly slipped his glossa out and around his extended digits in a long, teasingly slow, lick. The sensors within his hands, his fingers, went wild, surging and cascading underneath the sensations Sunstreaker was laving upon them.

"Ohh, now who's being a dirty mech…" Ratchet's vocalizer trailed off as he swung his legs over, capturing Sunstreaker back underneath his form and clambering on top of the twin, panting heavily. Sunstreaker shifted underneath Ratchet, still clutching at the medic's hand. He smirked again, softly, then slid two of Ratchet's fingers inside his lipplates, closing them around the digits, and sucked.

Ratchet knew that image, along with the sensory data from the memory, would stay within his processor until he joined the Matrix. The image of Sunstreaker, smirking around his fingers buried inside his lipplates, warm glossa stroking teasingly up and around his digits, sensors spiking and tingling, was enough to nearly offline him entirely. He gasped, groaned, optics blazing wildly down at the sight. "Sunny…" he whispered, as his other hand beginning to trail over and around the golden twin's armor. His own mouthplates quickly followed, lipplates and glossa beginning to memorize every inch, every joint of Sunstreaker's armor and frame.

Sunstreaker writhed beneath him uncontrollably, panting and gasping Ratchet's name again and again.

Prowl, Jazz, Starscream, Kup, Springer and Blaster had just emerged from the back room, finally through arguing, planning, plotting, discussing and agreeing upon their plan of attack. Hot Rod and Smokescreen had fallen into recharge against the back wall, too exhausted to wait for the finished exhibition of Fireflight's paintjob. They feel into recharge shortly after Springer left.

Fireflight and Bluestreak were sitting in front of the mural, Fireflight still gazing wistfully at it as Bluestreak hunched over, hands cupped around his helm and over his audials. Thundercracker and Skywarp were nowhere to be seen.

Prowl was frowning at the suddenly appeared mural, Kup, Springer and Blaster moving away to wake their sleeping teammates. Starscream was heading up the ramp to their upper level, needing to get away from everyone and everything. Jazz was crossing over to Bluestreak and growing slightly concerned as he realized the young gunner was humming quietly to himself, hands still on his helm, over his audials.

"Blue?" Jazz asked.

The unmistakable sound of Sunstreaker's voice, shouting in absolute, sheer body-wracking pleasure, wrenched from his vocalizer at the peak of his overload, rocked through their shelter. "Ratchet!" Sunstreaker screamed, long and loud, breathy gasps following the explosion of his overload, his cry of release. In the absolute stillness, the silence that followed, they heard Ratchet's hoarse chuckles, the slide of armor against armor as Ratchet settled back down next to Sunstreaker inside the med area.

Bluestreak groaned, offlining his optics. Fireflight giggled, though tried to suppress it. Jazz was frozen, struck dumb and speechless, utterly immobile. He caught Prowl's equally shocked stare from across the room, mouthplates open and trying to not twist into a wide grin.

Kup and Springer shared a long-suffering look between them, Blaster unhelpfully keying in some music to fill the void a bit too late. "What is with the young mechs and the old 'bots?" Springer whispered, shaking Smokescreen out of recharge.

"Us old 'bots know what we're doing!" Kup shot back, shaking Hot Rod awake. "Isn't that right, Hot Stuff?" Kup smirked down into Hot Rod's confused and recharge-laden faceplates, the young mech still not entirely online yet. "How's Ultra Magnus treat ya?" Kup chuckled along with Springer as Hot Rod frowned upwards, not understanding the joke but knowing that he was somehow the punchline, along with Magnus.

No one went to the medbay area for a long, long time.

Hound was in the lead, many meters in front of 'Bee as they jostled along the tiny mountain trail. Martinez had hopped into 'Bee along with Whitmore, allowing Hound the freedom to traverse the rocky and treacherous terrain a bit more wildly than with Martinez in his frame. Hound worked to clear the roadways, or to find an alternate route as they followed the tracing beacon on the last shipment, deep and high back into the mountains and plateaus of Western China and the surrounding warring, fractious borders.

Hound had been rolling along with 'Bee, the both of them chatting back and forth to break the boredom, trucking along after the shipments, the weapons packages on their way to Megatron's new base, his hidden lair. Whitmore and Martinez were spread out in the backseat, maps and laptops open between them as they tried to plot the anticipated course of the shipment, tried to narrow down their own probable location, as well as the potential location of Megatron.

Hound drove over a half destroyed, dirty thatched sack, just as he had done countless, countless times, in countless, countless countries, not thinking twice. He never expected the explosion that ripped through his undercarriage, tossing him from the roadway and sending him crashing down the ravine in a blinding, shearing shock of agonizing, burning pain.

The last thing Hound heard was 'Bee's frantic voice, screaming at him over the commlink, as Martinez and Whitmore began firing at an unknown, unseen enemy with their rifles. The bullets whizzed overhead, far away, too far away for Hound to know. He began to fade, to slip away, darkness pouring in around him as 'Bee's voice faded from his processor. _Mirage_… was the last thought to cross his spark before the darkness closed in completely.


	17. Chapter 17

Crash Into You

Chapter 17

* * *

Blitzwing stared out over the darkness of offcycle Kaon. Something wasn't right.

Runamuck and Runabout had failed. The brothers returned from their patrol ranting about the Resistance surprising their raiding party, offlining the others and themselves barely able to escape. The two hadn't been able to see clearly just who had attacked them. They thought they had cornered the two interlopers behind a warehouse. An explosion, a sudden increase in the fire they were taking, and then a surprise attack from their flank; something wasn't right.

Last cycle, an electrical fire on the edge of South Kaon had prompted Blitzwing to send out another patrol, this one far heavier armed, and without Runabout and Runamuck in command. An explosives dump, seemingly from the Resistance, had blown, destroying the warehouse entirely and nearly consuming the surrounding buildings in flames. There weren't any life signs, nor any bodies.

However, deep within the flaming complex, the patrol had keyed into an oscillating energy signature, screaming across all bands. It was a familiar signal, one they had been looking for ever since it had been taken from them. It was the signal of their refraction crystal for the spacebridge drivetrain.

Shockwave had been exuberant, in his own cold way, when Blitzwing had relayed the news to the chief scientist. Blitzwing's failure to capture the Resistance, combined with this latest attack, had earned him Shockwave's particular anger and dark frustration. Recovering the crystal did much to salve that wound.

However, Blitzwing was entirely too suspicious. They had been searching for that crystal, and for the Resistance scum that harbored it, for orns. They chased them around and over and through the planet, from Iacon to Kaon and back. It was entirely possible that the crystal had never left Kaon; travel across the planet's surfaces was too tenuous for the Resistance while the Decepticons ruled the entirety of Cybertron. Transporting the crystal, especially as they were being searched for, would have been entirely too suicidal. Despite Blitzwing's hatred of the Autobots, and the Resistance in particular, he did have to accept their intelligence. They wouldn't have survived against him for long without some semblance of a working processor, no matter how much he despised that fact.

The Resistance had nearly destroyed their plans with the abduction of that crystal. Shockwave had been unnaturally frantic, devising multiple means to recoup their loss, each one ending in failure. He refused to push back the timeframe for their launch, refused to bow to the inevitable need to entirely, completely, annihilate the Resistance, and all their safeholds. While Blitzwing would have happily presided over the flaming ruins of Iacon and Kaon, or of the whole of Cybertron itself, secure in the knowledge that he was the supreme ruler without objection, Shockwave and Megatron both desired some semblance of the planet remain. They did not fight this war over rubble.

The Resistance knew this. They knew the crystal was integral to their plan. They had sacrificed too much, gave up too many other battles, in order to secure it. For them to lose it now, to seemingly abandon it in a careless accident…

Blitzwing was suspicious. Something wasn't right.

Shockwave only listened with one audial though. He busily set back to work, reworking the patches and hastily reengineering the drive train to accept the purified crystal instead of the fake mockery they had attempted to place within the systems. The rest of the scientists scurried about, racing to the end of their timeline and rushing to please both Shockwave, and by proxy, Megatron.

Blitzwing continued to stand guard, gazing out over the dark and offcycle Kaon as his processor whirred on.

Ratchet squeezed Sunstreaker's hands tighter in his own, Sunstreaker's chinplate resting on his shoulderjoint.

They were both outside the shelter, standing near to the rear and gazing out over the bare planet's surfaces. The planet hummed around them, main grid fully repaired and fully powered. Above them both, the stars and Cybertron's twin moons softly passed by. Sunstreaker held Ratchet in his arms, Ratchet's backplating to Sunstreaker's front, while they both stood in companionable, effortless silence.

Ratchet couldn't believe the turn of events of the past two cycles. Here he was, in Sunstreaker's arms and Sunstreaker in his own. It was almost too much for his processor to fathom, the realization of his spark's desire. His red fingers played over Sunstreaker's digits, rubbing and caressing the yellow plating as he leaned backwards against Sunstreaker with a soft sigh.

They had spent nearly the entire previous off cycle wrapped in each other's arms, stroking, caressing, tasting, learning each other's bodies and frames. The curve of their arms. The length of their legs. The sensitivity of their lines and cables. Ratchet dove into Sunstreaker with abandon, physically worshipping the twin with his touches and lipplates both. Sunstreaker had been unprepared for the intensity of Ratchet's onslaught, surrendering underneath the medic's surging lust and writhing again and again in limitless pleasure.

Jazz had finally, and entirely sheepishly, poked his helm into the medbay and politely asked the two of them to tone it down or take it outside. Bluestreak's processor was beginning to melt and Fireflight couldn't stop giggling. Kup was grinning like a mad mech at Hot Rod who was frowning heavily, missing Ultra Magnus and sulking that Sunstreaker was enjoying his time with Ratchet. Springer was fast using up his quantity of sighs and long-suffering glances over both Sunstreaker and Hot Rod. The Seekers had escaped to their upper level as quickly as they had realized what was occurring. Prowl, Blaster and Smokescreen were doing their best to rise above the occasion, ignoring the noises and the implications behind them while Blaster played soft music in the background. The music covered most all of the noises, except for the exceptionally loud and creative sounds. Jazz had been enjoying creating mental pictures of both Ratchet and Sunstreaker as well as him and Prowl, acting out all manner of physical possibilities behind the sounds, which he then sent oh-so-helpfully over to Prowl across their bond. Prowl utterly ignored Jazz at first, but retired to their private room when dignity finally allowed it, there's being the only room with an intact door. He flashed back two quick directions: _shut them up, and get in here_.

Ratchet had completely forgotten about the rest of the team, including their new partners in the Resistance. He had entirely forgotten that the shelter they were in was actually quite tiny, with crumbling, rotten metal walls and no real doors. He had totally forgotten about everything except the feeling of Sunstreaker beneath him as the golden twin overloaded, again and again, crying out Ratchet's name in loud, breathy gasps.

From the look on Sunstreaker's faceplates when Jazz had walked in, Sunstreaker had forgotten as well... and didn't much care.

The two of them had shared a quick look, Ratchet still red-fingers deep inside Sunstreaker's transformation seams, and instantly, mutually decided to head outside. They marched through the main room, under the assembled team's stares, glares, leers and cheers, and headed outside, rushing around the shelter and trying to distance themselves from the group before racing back into each other's arms, lipplates crashing together again and again.

Ratchet had learned everything about Sunstreaker; the sound of his moans, the reverberations of his vents. The way Ratchet's name sounded, rolling off of Sunstreaker's lipplates in lust, in wonder, in overload. In quiet whispers. In soft, pleading tones. The whimpers he made, just before overload. He learned Sunstreaker's audial vents were particularly, exceptionally sensitive. Ratchet had caught the golden twin fingering them fast and furiously as Ratchet's lipplates had been occupied elsewhere, learning the taste of the yellow Lambo's hipplates and leg joints. He had wrenched Sunstreaker's hands away, pinning them down before rising back up to deliciously torture Sunstreaker beneath his touch, his fingers, his lipplates and glossa once again, this time at his audial vents. He spent a half joor licking, tasting, ghosting breaths across the surface of each vent, as Sunstreaker came undone beneath him in shaking gasps and whimpers.

They had finally collapsed in exhaustion, curled around each other and falling into recharge. The last thing Ratchet remembered seeing was Sunstreaker's tired optics gazing up into his faceplates with something that looked like wonder blazing deep within from his helm resting on Ratchet's shoulderjoint.

Ratchet woke late in the on cycle, regaining awareness under Sunstreaker's tender ministrations and glossa. He had only a moment to gasp before Sunstreaker hefted him up into his arms and pushed him against the outside wall of their shelter, grinding his hipplates into Ratchet's own. Ratchet had instantly wrapped his arms and legs around the golden twin, moaning as Sunstreaker sucked his neck cables hard and possessively.

"Do you have any idea," Sunstreaker had asked, "how crazy your paint job makes me?"

"What's wrong with my paint?"

Sunstreaker's optics blazed downwards into Ratchet's own as his hands grabbed at Ratchets aft, his hipplates, yellow fingers stroking and rubbing and grabbing the red armor. He leaned forward, glossa tracing over the red cross on Ratchet's left shoulderjoint before pulling back, optics still burning down into Ratchet's. "There's nothing wrong with your paintjob. It's perfect."

Ratchet couldn't say anything after that, aside from gasping Sunstreaker's name over and over as he clutched the twin's shoulderjoints, at his silver vents behind his helm, while Sunstreaker ground into him, kissing him, stroking him up against the wall until they both overloaded again. Sunstreaker seemed magnetically drawn to each of Ratchet's red parts, licking and fondling them with abandon. His hands. His aft. His shoulder crosses. Again and again.

Despite Ratchet wanting nothing more than to stay outside, stay wrapped in Sunstreaker's arms all cycle, he still had work to do. He had successfully replicated the Hydrogen Cyanide, but now he needed to weaponize it. He needed to convert half his stockpile into Potassium Cyanide, then increase the potency of it several hundred fold. Prowl wanted both gases to be explosive, able to be detonated under pressure along with being entirely too poisonous. He had to dramatically increase the concentration before loading it into the canisters and modules for Prowl and Jazz's ultimate mission.

He had extricated himself from Sunstreaker's grip, apologizing to the golden twin as he did so and telling him to remain outside to recharge in peace. Sunstreaker hadn't listened at all, instead following Ratchet back inside, back under the stares, leers, and knowing smiles, and back into their medbay to help Ratchet once more.

Ratchet would have thought he'd have been embarrassed, if he'd ever thought before that he'd one cycle be caught nearly publicly interfacing, loudly and entirely wantonly, in the presence of his friends and coworkers. It surprised him to realize he actually didn't much care at all. Nothing could keep him from Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker once again diligently assisted him, this time glancing knowingly up at him nearly every breem, a not-quite smile playing over his lipplates. That not-there smile, the shine to the edge of Sunstreaker's optics that accompanied it, the depth of the brightness in the gaze, was fast becoming the underpinnings of Ratchet's entire world. It nearly stole his vents, every time. He'd freeze, catching the look, his own lipplates stretching into an incoherent smile as he gazed back, before shaking himself out of his lapse and refocusing on his work. Until he saw it again.

They worked quickly, this time Ratchet sharing stories of his own time as a young mech in Cybertron's Medical Academy, and his own pranks he had once pulled as an ambitious young student. Sunstreaker's optics glowed while he listened, and Ratchet had the sneaking suspicion that Sunstreaker had just collected additional inspiration for Sideswipe's campaign of mischief. Sunstreaker had chuckled, twice, during Ratchet's stories, that same explosive, unable-to-be-contained bark of laughter, low and soft, and over entirely too quickly for Ratchet's liking. That laugh as well was quickly becoming entirely too important to Ratchet.

As soon as they had finished the first set, leaving the apparatus for its timed compression cycle, Sunstreaker had stalked around the worktable, keeping his optics locked on Ratchet's as he moved. Ratchet stood his ground, waiting for the twin to stop in front of him. Instead, Sunstreaker bodily pushed Ratchet backwards, step by slow step, until the medic was pressed back against the wall, Sunstreaker leaning down over him and pressing his hands into the wall next to his helm. Ratchet had pulled Sunstreaker close, rubbing their frames against each other slowly. Sunstreaker stared into his optics for a long while, vents increasing under Ratchet's touch and the building friction, before lowering his helm and entirely too tenderly capturing Ratchet's lipplates in a too-slow kiss.

They had tried, that once, to connect their interface cables, but the surging emotions, the combination of their finally realized lust and longing for the other, intermingled with the confused panic, fear and surging energon of their current situation, was too much. The touches of each other against their own processors, their own energy fields syncing as one, their firewalls dropping to allow each other inside them, finally, perfectly, had spiked too high within their sparks. They had frozen, unable to move beyond merely clutching at each other and gasping, trembling beneath the raging, cresting emotions cascading back and forth across their interface. The overload that had eventually, painfully, come had offlined Sunstreaker entirely for a joor, while Ratchet stumbled around in a fog. They went back to friction overloads, their energy fields crackling against each other as they rubbed and petted, ground against one another and built up an electrical charge that finally exploded over them both again and again. Still though, Ratchet cherished the brief sensations of Sunstreaker within his processor, his unfettered access to the entirety of the twin, of the mech he was fast realizing his feelings ran far too deeply for. He clutched within both of his hands the precious feelings Sunstreaker had unfolded within him, both of the twin's own and Ratchet's in response. It made him want, so much, ache in fact, for more.

Now, they both stood outside, wrapped in each other's arms in the final cycle in their shelter. There was a delicious tingle, a welcome ache, in Ratchet's circuits, pervading throughout his systems and stretching across his servos. That was Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker still deep inside him, the after effects of their physical union, unstoppable and uncontrollable. He'd had more interfacing in the past two cycles than in vorns, which spoke both volumes about the emptiness of his life and the unquenchable burn he had for the golden twin. Sunstreaker only had to look at him, and Ratchet would be yearning again for the Lambo to be beneath him, to be fondling, stroking, tasting his armor once more, to listen to the cries and whimpers of his lover coming undone in his hands.

Soon though, they all would attack Shockwave's compound, attempting to steal the freighter that both factions so desperately needed. Ratchet had finished, finally, with his bio-weapons in silence, putting the finishing touches on the modules only a joor prior. Sunstreaker had allowed him to work in peace, alone during the final assembly of the weapons, recognizing a deeper, painful memory of Ratchet's emerging to be dealt with in silence. Ratchet rejoined him outside after he finished, silently thanking the twin for his unexpected understanding and folding into his arms. The rest of the team was tucked away, each wrapped into their own thoughts, quietly keeping their own vigils before the upcoming battle. Prowl had briefed them all with Jazz, Kup and Springer flanking him, describing their attack plan with a confidence bolstered by repeated looks into Jazz's faceplates.

Ratchet squeezed Sunstreaker's hands again, still rubbing the yellow armor softly. "Sunstreaker?" he murmured, nuzzling his helm back against the golden twin's dermal plating.

Sunstreaker didn't verbally answer. He squeezed Ratchet tighter, briefly, turning his helm slightly to press harder against Ratchet's own.

"If we get back…" Ratchet began, swallowing hard. "If we get back, I… I don't want this to end." He inhaled shakily, offlining his optics. "Primus knows I am the luckiest mech alive, to share a berth with you. You are…" Ratchet faded off, not able to vocalize just how stunning and captivating he found Sunstreaker, in ways that went entirely beyond the mere physical beauty of the golden twin. "I care about you, Sunny. Probably too much. I don't want to let you go," Ratchet finished with a whisper.

Sunstreaker didn't say anything for a long moment. His arms had squeezed tighter around Ratchet as Ratchet had spoken, fingers gripping down hard against the medic's own. He turned his helm, burying his faceplates in Ratchet's neck collum, inhaling deeply. Ratchet didn't move.

"I told you," Sunstreaker finally said, vocalizer rough edged and deeper than his normal timbre, still speaking with his helm buried unseen in Ratchet's neck collum. "You are my dirty old mech. I'm not letting you go either."

Starscream shifted against the back wall, unable to fall into recharge. His processor whirred with too many thoughts cascading throughout, the culmination of too many long plans and dreams.

Starscream had felt Skywarp's tumbling emotions earlier, then reached out and felt his trinemates conversation through their shared bond. It was unusual to him, to be able to feel and hear everything that Skywarp could, to sense the world through his processor as well as Starscream's own. He wasn't surprised at what he heard.

Starscream shifted his optics across their floor, glaring in the darkness at Thundercracker. The blue Seeker was deep in recharge, Skywarp wrapped in his arms once more, also recharging. They two had seemed to work out their differences, though they each took a Primusly-long time to fall into recharge together, shifting slightly together and away again and sighing uncomfortably. Starscream hadn't cared, pulling himself away from Skywarp as stealthily as he had entered his trinemate's processor. It allowed him time to complete his side project, his secret little construction, away from the prying optics and audials of the rest of the team. It lay hidden in his subspace now, waiting for its time. For its moment.

Everything would change in the next cycle. It all would change, entirely. Everything Starscream had worked for, had strived for, would finally, beautifully, come to pass. He could feel the triumph of his victory even now, just on the cusp of its realization. He tempered himself though, holding himself back. It wouldn't do to be too overly optimistic, too enthusiastic now, on the eve of his battle with his supposed allies.

Starscream glared across at Thundercracker again, sneering unseen in the darkness. His trinemate could ruin it all though. He was always the weakest of the three. At least Skywarp had a strong streak of loyalty in his spark.

He had felt Thundercracker's dry humor, reverberating through Skywarp's bond as a reflection from Skywarp himself, at Skywarp's pronouncement of himself a "loyal Decepticon." They were ostensibly allied to the Autobots, destroying Shockwave's compound on Cybertron and en route to dispatch Megatron in aid of Optimus Prime's main attack force. Most mechs couldn't see the loyalty in that situation. Most Autobots couldn't. Neither could Thundercracker.

Thundercracker was always too much of an Autobot, too close to their ideals. He held too tightly to their weak, emotional ways, letting his spark guide his processor instead of his strength. His strength had been what first caught Starscream's optics, all those vorns ago. Where that strength had gone, Starscream couldn't tell. He had a sneaking suspicion it had gone following after Thundercracker's spark when the blue Seeker had given it to Skywarp.

It was the Autobots insistence on seeing the universe through their own, emotionally weak ways that led them to this plan, to assuming Starscream would act in their idealized way out of his feelings. Only Prowl had known the truth; only Prowl could still see into him. Starscream hated Prowl for that, bitterly, entirely. Prowl knew, because Starscream had told him just how to keep him here.

It made Starscream pause, thinking about the situation. Once, long ago, he had been not unlike Thundercracker. Brilliant, strong, full of potential and bursting with possibilities for a new world, a new Decepticon world. Even longer before that, he had once given away his own spark. Could he have ended up as Thundercracker, caring more for his bonded than for his own self? More for their union than for his own future?

If he had been that mech once, he couldn't see it now. The dark, far corner of his spark still surged, whining out briefly with its irrepressible, unquenchable hope. He crushed it ruthlessly again. Hope had never sustained him. Hope only ruined him. Every time.

Starscream shifted again, dropping his optics from their glare on Thundercracker to rest on Skywarp. At least he had Skywarp. At least he had a trinemate that he could count on. Skywarp was loyal, unfailingly so, to Starscream, in perfect Decepticon style. He was loyal to his trine, to his trine leader, and to their cause. Megatron's actions and battles were tolerated in so far as he furthered their cause and furthered their trine. Protected their trine. But his ultimate loyalty lay entirely within Starscream's hands.

The same dark corner of his spark cried out again, weakly protesting that what he was doing was wrong. Seeing Skywarp's loyalty refracting so purely back at him made that tiny, unkillable part of himself twinge. Should he be as loyal to them in return?

Starscream looked back upwards to Thundercracker's recharging faceplates, then scowled. _No, absolutely not_.

What he was doing was perfectly justified. They would see. They would know in the end. Perhaps even Thundercracker would finally understand.

Fireflight sighed once more, leaning back against the wall next to Bluestreak. The young Autobots were the only two still online in the shelter. The Resistance team had fallen into recharge together, all lined up against one wall and leaning against each other's shoulders for helm support, each clutching their rifles in their hands. They had a camaraderie, a powerful presence together that awed Fireflight. It made him think of his brothers, made him miss them, but then just as quickly made him realize his bumbling brothers were nothing like the powerful mechs in front of him. Not at all.

Bluestreak was finishing cleaning his rifle, polishing the lenses of his sniper scope and reattaching it to the long barrel of his laser sniper. He hummed softly as he worked.

"Are you scared?" Fireflight finally asked Bluestreak. He couldn't stop seeing the dead Decepticon, the Decepticon he had killed, in front of his optics. He knew that the next cycle they would all be attacking the compound, and would be fighting the Decepticons again. It would be from a distance again, not so up close and entirely too personal as that horrible moment had been, but he still would be firing. Would be killing. Fireflight had never once, not before, doubted himself. Never doubted his abilities. Now though, as his little hands shook in his lap, he wondered if he was truly able to be a strong mech like the rest of the team. Like the Resistance.

Bluestreak looked sideways at Fireflight. He had heard, from Prowl telling Jazz, just what had happened while they two of them were away. In an entirely technical sense, he was impressed with Fireflight's shot. Even he couldn't get that shot, not normally. That Fireflight could spoke volumes about his own targeting, his own accuracy and skill with his weapons, when the Aerialbot put his processor to it. "A little," Bluestreak admitted. "But probably not for the same reasons as you, you see, I get scared for everyone else." Bluestreak uncharacteristically stopped, gazing over at the sleeping Resistance team members with Fireflight. "Will I be strong enough, will my aim be good enough, or will I let anyone down, or will I protect my friends, or will I miss a shot that let's a Decepticon land one on one of us, and I can't stop thinking about it before the battle, it just rolls around and around and around in my processor, even now."

Fireflight frowned, turning to face Bluestreak. "How do you stop it?"

"The battle starts, and then it all goes away, I mean, it just… vanishes. I don't worry about it anymore and I just shoot." Bluestreak finished with his lenses, setting the rifle down to the side. "You and your brothers were full-sparked for this war back here, and you never had a choice about fighting like I did, 'cause I chose to do this, back because of Praxus."

"Your home?" Fireflight remembered Bluestreak's pleasant stories from several cycles ago, seemingly an eternity ago.

Bluestreak nodded. "Prowl saved me from Praxus, after it was destroyed… the Decepticons ruined it, destroyed it to the ground and there was nothing left, and I was so young, and so scared, and so alone, 'cause they killed everyone right there in front of me and the city was destroyed around me and I couldn't do anything about it, cause I was too young and not able to save the mechs I loved, you know, Prowl and I are the only mechs left from Praxus." Bluestreak looked into Fireflight's optics. "At all."

Fireflight's lipplates dropped open.

"I wont let that happen again, I wont let the Decepticon's take that from me again, 'cause this time I fight for the mechs I love, and nothing can stop me now, all I need to do is think about Praxus, and about Prowl, and about Sideswipe and Bumblebee and Jazz and Inferno and even Sunstreaker, or any of my friends, and I know I can do it."

Fireflight still stared open mouthplated at Bluestreak, not saying anything. His optics burned too brightly in the dark shelter as his processor whirred, thoughts tumbling and swirling around Bluestreak's words interspersed with images of his brothers, flying, fighting, arguing, being rambunctious, being annoying, being irritating. But always being alive. Thundercracker's image stretched suddenly in front of his optics as well, followed by Bluestreak's, Prowl's, then Jazz's. Sunstreaker's scowling faceplates, then his overbright optics piercing into Fireflight's own as they shared a long look in front of Sunstreaker's hastily painted and gifted mural to Fireflight, still present on the far bulkhead.

Bluestreak looked away. "I heard what happened, and I don't understand how you're feeling, not really, cause I've wanted to destroy the Decepticons since they destroyed my home, but I know others don't feel like I do. First Aid wont fight, but he just doesn't like violence, doesn't like it at all, maybe you should talk to him when we get back-"

Fireflight finally interrupted Bluestreak. "No, no, that's alright." He swallowed, looking back at the slumbering Resistance team again. "You're helping me." He looked back at Bluestreak. "Thank you."

Bluestreak smiled lopsidedly. "I just talk all the time, I don't know how much help I ever am."

Fireflight smiled back at the gunner. "You do talk a lot," he giggled softly. "But it helps."

Bluestreak leaned backwards against the wall, settling his doorwings low as he did so, preparing for recharge. He turned his helm to Fireflight, still smiling softly at the Aerialbot. He held up his arm. "Ready for recharge?"

Fireflight nodded, then scooted closer and into Bluestreak's loose embrace. He laid his helm against the curve of Bluestreak's bumper with a gentle sigh, gathering strength from his friend's frame and hold. Bluestreak gently stroked his fingers down Fireflight's downward sloping wing edge as he offlined his optics. They both silently leaned against one another, seeking comfort and friendship in the darkness before the battle, processors whirring silently and entirely differently over their upcoming actions.

Starscream landed gracefully, lipplates sneering in completely satisfied pride outside of the Shockwave's compound. The Decepticon guard patrol mechs all instantly raised their rifles, targeting both him and his struggling, furious prisoner and prepared to fire.

Starscream roughly shoved his prisoner in front of his frame, shielding himself from the shots of the patrol. "Tell your commander Blitzwing that I am surrendering," Starscream sneered haughtily. "And tell him that I have a gift for him," Starscream purred, roughly shaking Jazz's securely bound frame in front of him.

"You fragger!" Jazz shouted, trying to twist away from Starscream's grip. He jerked sideways, grunting as he did so, trying to shake the too tight hold the Seeker had firmly and uncomfortably on his backstruts. His arms and hands were bound behind his backplating, far too securely. He hadn't thought Starscream knew how to tie such firm and strong cable ties. He'd clearly thought wrong. Jazz jerked again. "You'll pay for this, you traitor," he seethed murderously.

The guards stared wide optic'd at Starscream, shifting glances between the Seeker and his prisoner as Jazz continued to grunt and try to escape, losing his footing and falling roughly to his knees in Starscream's grip. Starscream kicked the Saboteur heavily as he fell, directly in the abdominal plating. Jazz groaned, offlining his visor and curling against the sudden shocks of pain lancing through his frame. He rested the fore of his helm against the ground, panting sharply. "You fragger," he muttered again.

"Tell Blitzwing there's more where this came from." Starscream shoved Jazz's frame sideways with his foot, sending the Autobot Saboteur sprawling on his back, roughly landing on his bound arms and hands, visor still offline and faceplates twisted in pain. "Tell him I know their plans."

Blitzwing stormed through the corridors of the compound, seething in rage. He knew, he had just known, there was something else going on. Shockwave didn't want to listen, single mindedly focused and intent on completing the freighter for Megatron. No matter what Blitzwing said, Shockwave brushed him aside.

Megatron wasn't here. Megatron wasn't on Cybertron. Megatron wasn't trying to stay one step ahead of an increasingly slippery Resistance movement. Increasingly daring, increasingly bold.

And now, the sudden appearance of Starscream. It was too much, too coincidental. Blitzwing didn't believe a word the red Seeker had said, relayed to him by a nervous and flustered Decepticon raider from the battlements. He'd ordered Runamuck and Runabout to drag the two inside and to leave them waiting for him in the wardroom, deep inside the compound. The brig was too close to the edge, too close to the outside walls. Blitzwing didn't trust Starscream enough leave him in any position to potentially communicate with another mech, another team of mechs even, not even if the red Seeker was telling the truth.

The brig also had security cameras, optics keeping watch on the unruly prisoners and rowdy Decepticons that ended up inside. The vile curses they muttered against their commandeering officers and section leaders made for excellent material to hang over their helms later on.  
Blitzwing didn't want anymech to see what he had in store for Starscream. For too long, the red Seeker had been the bane of his existence, a foil against his domination with Shockwave. Starscream was Megatron's favored, his pet, kept closest to their Leader in favor of Shockwave, despite the true brilliance and loyalty of the Decepticon chief scientist. It made Blitzwing sick, made his tanks roil in rage, in hatred. He despised everything about the Air Commander, from his sneering superiority to his smug arrogance, his absolute conviction that he was the pinnacle of Cybertronian evolution. He was disgusting, sniveling, obsequiously weak. Blitzwing didn't know how any other mech stood to be around him, much less take orders from him. Much less bond with him in a trine.

Runamuck and Runabout stood guard outside the wardroom doors, optics fixed firmly down the hallway. Blitzwing had been harsh with their failure, unforgiving. He'd nearly offlined them himself, but still saw a rough sort of potential within them, if only it could be uncovered. They took two steps for every one now, cautious and orderly in their punishment.

"Are they both inside?" Blitzwing growled. The brothers nodded sharply. "Good. Get back to your stations."

Blitzwing waited, unmoving, until the sounds of the brothers faded away down the corridor before he slid open the door and stepped inside.

Starscream was leaning backwards against the far wall, arms crossed over his frame, one leg saucily kicked forward, arrogance and conceit rolling off of him in overbearing waves. His prisoner, the visored Autobot Jazz, was leaning back heavily against the opposite wall, still panting raggedly, visor offline and helm tilted backwards. Energon dripped from a cut at his lipplate, dripping in a small line down his chinplate and onto his white chest armor. Runamuck and Runabout had bodily dragged the still-struggling Autobot into the wardroom and not spared any tenderness.

"Blitzwing. It's been too long," Starscream purred from his position, not moving a servo. "Although, if you had come to Earth, I would have put you in far better accommodations." The red Seeker sneered, lipplates curling upwards as he tilted his helm to the side.

Blitzwing snarled, his fierce temper and anger finally cracking beneath his armor. He stormed across the room in two quick steps, optics flashing murderously as he closed in on Starscream. The Seeker's optics widened as he tried to back away, but was already pinned against the bulkhead. He tried shifting sideways, but Blitzwing cornered him too quickly. "Shut your mouthplates, traitor," Blitzwing growled through gritted denta. "What are you scheming at?"

Starscream frowned, lipplates still curled upwards as he lashed back out at Blitzwing. "I bring you an Autobot prisoner and their plans to attack your compound, and you accuse me of treachery? How dare you!" Starscream's optics flashed against Blitzwing's, equally deadly. "I am a loyal Decepticon," he ground out.

"There isn't a loyal servo in your frame." Blitzwing's arms snaked out, blocking the Seeker's attempt to shift sideways against the bulkhead, to flee from the oppressive dominance of Blitzwing over him. "I will ask you once more: What are you scheming at? You have one chance to speak truthfully, Starscream."

Starscream's lipplates twisted in anger upwards at Blitzwing. He was trapped, solidly so. "How dare you!" he cried out again. "No wonder Megatron kept you up here playing lap-jet to Shockwave! You don't have an intelligent chip in your entire processor!" Starscream's rant was roughly cut off as Blitzwing sharply moved in, crushing the red jet beneath his larger frame as he pushed Starscream roughly against the bulkhead. "You aren't listening to me…" Starscream gasped out beneath the larger Decepticon.

"Because everything that comes out of your mouthplates are lies…" Blitzwing raised his hand, gripping down tightly against the Seeker's neck collum, optics blazing as his faceplates twisted in satisfaction. Starscream's optics widened as his blue hands rose to grasp at Blitzwing's digits. "Everything that has happened this orn has been unusual." Blitzwing spoke lowly. "The space bridge. The Resistance attacks. Our inability to contact Earth."

"That wasn't me!" Starscream gasped as Blitzwing's digits tightened against this throat, pressure increasing on his internal lines.

"Wouldn't you say you are an unusual mech, Starscream? Utilizing unusual means to your own end?" Blitzwing's fingers dug in deeper, harder, twisting inside of the Seeker as he lifted Starscream roughly from the ground, dragging his wings sharply against the bulkhead with a terrible screech.

Starscream gasped again, blue hands frantically trying to peel Blitzwing's hands from his throat collum. Blitzwing's overbright optics stared into his own, their gazes now level. The purple Decepticon watched, waited, still crushing down on the red Seeker.

In the silence of their stare, amidst Starscream's gasps and clutches at Blitzwing's hands, his cooling fans ticked on, trying to dissipate the heat that had steadily built within the Seeker's frame.

Blitzwing chuckled dryly, without humor. "Oh Starscream, you haven't changed a bit." His fingers tightened as he gave the Seeker a rough shake, wings still scraping against the bulkhead. Starscream gasped again, optics flickering as his hands began to weaken, their struggles against Blitzwing slowing.

Blitzwing brought his other hand up to trace Starscream's wing edge, sending shudders through the red Seeker's frame. He paused at the edge of an elevator joint. "You always lubed up over strong mechs, didn't you? That's why you stay with Megatron." Blitzwing leaned close to Starscream's faceplates, sneering. "I suppose I should be flattered you think me strong," he hissed before stepping backwards, still holding the Seeker pinned back against the bulkhead roughly. His fingers began toying with the elevator joint as Starscream twitched, gasping in both pain and pleasure, commingled from the pressure on his neck and the sensations in his wings. "I will destroy you," Blitzwing's vocalizer was low, deep, breathy, pitched to lance straight to Starscream's spark. "And you will hate every astrosecond of it." Blitzwing roughly jerked his fingers into the elevator joint, ripping into it with abandon, gleeful smile stretched over his faceplates revealing his gritted denta, fierce with satisfied rage. "And you will beg me for more!"

Starscream shuddered, gasping and screaming in both agony and unasked-for lust. His optics flickered, sensations too overwhelming against the raging cascades against his sensor net, entirely too much to think straight. His gaze fell on Jazz, still bound on the opposite side of the room, visor now softly illuminated and gazing into his own optics unreadably.

Starscream nodded, a bare flick of his helm disguised as a wobble as he licked his lipplates, shifting his optics back to Blitzwing with a growl. Blitzwing chuckled again as his fingers trailed closer across the edge of Starscream's wing, dancing across the joint and reaching for the next elevator joint.

A whine, a purple illumination, a soft glow of light from behind Blitzwing made him pause, made him whirl his helm suddenly. His faceplates and optics landed on the terrifyingly angry form of Skywarp, flanked by an entire squad of Wreckers and Springer, the purple Seeker's arm ray lifted to Blitzwing's faceplates, bare inches from his dermal plating. Blitzwing had only an astrosecond to realize he had forgotten Starscream's trinemates, forgotten the unfailingly loyal Seekers that accompanied Starscream on each of his plots and plans. That should have been his first question.

"Get your hands off my trinemate," Skywarp growled before he opened fire, blasting his arm ray directly into the faceplates of Blitzwing, offlining him instantly in a fiery blaze that consumed the Decepticon's entire helm. His lifeless, decapitated body collapsed beneath him, his grip on Starscream immediately slackening.

Starscream gasped, inhaling roughly as he fell forward into Skywarp's arms. Springer untied Jazz across the room, spare rifle already out and loaded for the Saboteur. As soon as Jazz was free, he grabbed the rifle, charging the core and arming the charge as the compounds alarms began to shriek.

::Phase one complete, Prowl:: Jazz sent over their bond.

Prowl's relieved voice flooded his processor. ::Good work. We'll wait for your signal.::

Jazz looked out over the rest of mechs, Starscream now shakily standing on his own, blue hand still resting lightly on Skywarp's forearm as the purple Seeker rested his hand on Starscream's shoulder vent. The Wrecker's stood in position, two flanking the door, three ready to open fire at a moments notice, all waiting and watching Springer. Springer stood off to the side of Jazz, waiting for their orders.

"Let's go," Jazz said, nodding to the group as he and Springer fell into place behind the Wrecker's flanking the door. "Starscream, lead the way."

Prowl nodded back down the dark alleyway to Fireflight and Thundercracker. The two flyers shared a quick look, then nodded once back to Prowl before silently transforming and rising into the dark sky over Kaon.

Prowl held his position, crouched at the dark edge of their hidden alleyway in North Kaon. Kup had led them silently back across the wilderness areas, back through the Resistance's hidden hole in the city walls after Springer removed the offlining code segments within the hardware of Starscream's emitter dampeners. Fireflight had boosted the dampener to his sensors, flying low over the group in formation with Thundercracker as they silently hovered across the wilderness areas, the rest of them crowded inside and on top of the bouncer. Jazz had taught both Hot Rod and Smokescreen the basics of the bouncer's maneuverability the cycle prior.

Hot Rod currently sat at the controls, Smokescreen next to him in the jump seat. Kup, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak each stood on the flatbed, rifles fully charged and ready to fire. Ratchet and Blaster both sat on the bench seat in between, Blaster cycling through the Decepticon comms frequencies, listening briefly to the idle chatter across the open links.

As soon as Fireflight and Thundercracker flew out of range, Prowl nodded again to Kup, the both of them activating their rigged Decepticon ident beacons while the rest of the team did the same. They were now shadows, Decepticons in hiding, waiting for their partners and comrades inside the compound.

Skywarp's warp had alerted the entire compound of the security breach. They hadn't been able to utilize Skywarp's warping technology previously; the energy surges and unique nuances of his abilities would have sent screaming rages across the Decepticon sensor network, both inside the compound and all over Kaon. Optic ridges would have been raised, raider parties would have been deployed. Now though, as they raced through the compound deeper into the heavily secured network of Shockwave's, they didn't much care about the security alert. They were bringing the fight this cycle.

Springer's Wreckers flanked the racing team. Starscream led the way, Jazz and Skywarp hustling behind him, jostling slightly for the position closest to the Seeker. Springer followed behind the two, helm swiveling right and left, up and down the hallways they passed. In the half breem they had been racing forward, there hadn't been any contact with the Decepticons, not yet.

Starscream flattened himself suddenly against the hallway's bulkhead just in front of a corridor intersection, hissing backwards for the team to drop down. Jazz slid beside Starscream as Skywarp followed. Springer and the Wreckers slid sideways, ducking down the side hallway for cover as the Decepticon guards finally pinned them back, firing down the hallway directly in front of them.

"The controls will be in the central command hub of the compound," Starscream shouted at Jazz over the roar of the laser fire suddenly cascading down their hallway. Springer immediately fired back, his Wreckers supplementing his fire in repeating bursted stacks, alternating each firing position to confuse and dislodge any potential targeting locks.

"How do ya know?" Jazz fired down the corridor, arching his shot high to collapse the ceiling panels onto the Decepticons before blasting into the side bulkhead, obstructing the Decepticon's view of their area.

"This is a standard Decepticon compound. Shockwave is unimaginative in his constructions." Starscream's optics followed the destruction Jazz had shot, even as the Wreckers set up a new position to continue firing through the new concealment Jazz had effectively created. "We needed to go that way," Starscream sneered.

"We'll have t' find another way." Jazz glanced around the small team, nodding quickly. "Time t' split up. Skywarp," Jazz flicked his helm around the corner briefly, gazing down the empty cross hallway. "Transform an' head that way. Distract 'em, get 'em confused. Do your best and cause as much destruction as ya can."

Skywarp ignored Jazz, glancing to Starscream with his mouthplates pressed in a firm line. Starscream nodded once, granting his permission to Skywarp to follow Jazz's orders before the purple Seeker moved. Skywarp wouldn't leave Starscream's injured side unless ordered by Starscream himself, and even then he often didn't listen. Jazz was unimpressed, glaring sidelong at the two.

"Keep in contact over yer bond," Jazz instructed lastly as Skywarp transformed, hastily throttling back and blasting down the corridor intersection, barrel rolling again and again. Jazz heard the confusion through the rubble, heard the Decepticons shout orders to change position, to give chase to Skywarp's flight.

Jazz hustled across the corridor to Springer, kneeling down next to the commander as he continued to signal orders to his Wreckers, still alternating fire down to the remaining Decepticons. "We'll stay here." Springer spoke low and fast.

Jazz nodded. "Work your way outside t' the hanger dock. We'll meet ya there as fast as we can."

Springer nodded and resumed his firing as Jazz motioned for Starscream to join him down the opposite hallway from Skywarp's dramatic flight. Starscream pushed himself off the wall with a small grunt before settling himself once more in front of Jazz and leading him through a roundabout weaving course across the compound.

Thundercracker and Fireflight flew high above Kaon, near the terminator between the thin Cybertronian atmosphere and the blackness of space. Thundercracker hovered close to Fireflight's wing, the Aerialbot still encasing the both of them within his boosted emitter dampener.  
Thundercracker vented shakily, his wingtips dipping slightly as he rocked. They had been waiting two breems, two agonizingly long breems since they had first set off from Prowl's position. Thundercracker hadn't felt anything, anything at all, from either of his trinemates. They were supposed to be together now, supposed to be fighting their way through the deep interior of the compound while he waited on the outside.

Three breems would be too long. Three breems meant something had gone wrong. Three breems was far too long. His trinemates were working on their last breem now.

Fireflight remained silent beside Thundercracker, circling in a tight formation with the blue Seeker. He pressed closer, energy field crackling against Thundercracker as he moved as close as he dared in their slow, languorous circles. Bluestreak's words flashed through his processor from earlier as he flew on, focusing his attentions outward, below them to the dark lights of Kaon, and to the compound, where his friends were waiting, relying on the both of them.

Thundercracker jostled next to him, his entire frame shaking violently in surprise. Fireflight jerked sideways slightly, avoiding a sharp collision and scrape of wing against wing as Thundercracker exhaled forcefully. "They did it," Thundercracker breathed. "Let's go."

The two flyers descended, flying straight downwards hard and fast, racing for the surface plating of the planet at increasingly screaming speeds. Fireflight had never flown so fast, nor so pointed, as he did with Thundercracker's wingtips barely brushing against his own.

They leveled off sharply several hundred feet about the surface, nosecones quickly pointing themselves skyward as they rolled sideways as one. Together they ignited their afterburners, rolling once more into the thrust as they raced, pounded their way south, buildings and warehouses and city lights streaming by in blurry lines as they tore through Kaon, heading straight for the compound.

Prowl glanced upwards at the roaring sounds approaching, barely spotting the dark forms of the flyers streak overhead. He squinted, spotting the flaming afterburners briefly as Hot Rod gunned the bouncer faster, harder, racing over the surface streets and down towards the compound. Prowl knelt behind Ratchet, clutching his rifle up and ready as Kup, Sunstreaker and Smokescreen held their firing positions around the flatbed as well, each levelly pointing outwards and on watch for incoming Decepticons as they tore towards their target.

A thundering, cascading explosion captured all of their optics, blinding them all with its brief, glaring intensity. A fireball erupted, bellowing high above the outer perimeter of the compound's battlements, roaring underneath the collapse of metal and framework before falling downwards into itself.

Hot Rod pushed the bouncer faster, gunning down against the shaking engines.

A series of smaller explosions followed, igniting the end of the dark off cycle in brief flashes of light and sound. The fireballs formed a ring, cascades of fiery energy surrounding and eclipsing the compound and hanger as Fireflight and Thundercracker darkly circled, raining destruction and fire down onto the battlement walls of Shockwave's lair.

Runamuck and Runabout froze, each screeching to a halt as they watched in horror as their impenetrable compound shattered around them. The bulkhead walls, high and solid, were smoking in weak ruins at interval points, burning and melting metal collapsing around their hanger dock. Decepticon soldiers and raiders attempted to fire outwards, upwards, into the dark off cycle, trying to pin the flyers targeting their interior as they circled madly over head.

"Where's Blitzwing?" Runabout cried to this brother. "They've taken down the guardshield!"

Runamuck shook his helm, breathing furiously and glaring outwards. "He's not here anymore." He hefted his rifle, loading a charge and striving forward.

Runabout glanced around nervously, optics darting over the destruction and chaos surrounding them. The guardshield was down, intruder alarms shrieking from Shockwave's compound, comms systems fritzing and unable to connect the raiders and guards to the soldiers inside. "What about the intruders? Shouldn't we go help capture them?"

Runamuck ignored his brother, clambering onto a collapsed section of wall plating and gazing outwards into the cityspace. "They're inside Shockwave's compound. He'll have to deal with them." Runamuck squinted into the blackness. "This hanger is ours."

From a distance, Runamuck spotted the shifting movements of the bouncer, dark and unilluminated against the blackness of the off cycle. He squinted once more, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder plating and balancing the stock against his joint before opening fire.

"Frag!" Hot Rod rolled sharply to the right, spinning the bouncer wildly and teetering dangerously on its side as he spied the incoming fire, bright flashes of laser fire streaking directly towards them. Sunstreaker gasped, rocking backwards under the shifting movements and losing his footing. He fell backwards, sliding and slipping near the back edge of the bouncer's flatbed as his hands grabbed for a grip, a hold. Prowl lunged for the golden twin, grasping Sunstreaker's forearms as he laid full out, Kup and Smokescreen each gripping down on his legs to keep both Prowl and Sunstreaker onboard.

Hot Rod cursed again as the fire continued, now several raiders and fighters keying into the first Decepticon's firing at their position. He rocked backwards, shifting the bouncer the opposite direction violently, twisting and rolling against the forces the bouncer wasn't built for. It groaned under his violent maneuvers, under his unskilled piloting.

Bluestreak shifted, trying to return fire against the Decepticons targeting their flight. He shifted, knocked off balance again by Hot Rod's jerky movements.

"We've got to get away from this laser magnet!" Kup shouted forward, still gripping down tightly on Prowl's legs as Sunstreaker clambered back onto the flatbed, sliding on his frontplating back to the group. Prowl gripped his shoulderjoints, hefting him forward and back to their secured positions behind the bench seat. Ratchet's red hand immediately snaked out, gripping Sunstreaker's forearm tightly, briefly, faceplates dark and unreadable. Sunstreaker's optics caught Ratchet's for an astrosecond in the darkness before focusing forwards once more.

Prowl leaned forward over both Blaster and Ratchet as Bluestreak, Kup and Smokescreen attempted to fire back once more. "Hot Rod!" Prowl cried out. "Roll us over! Use the bouncer as a shield!" Hot Rod's helm flashed back over his shoulderjoint twice, optics wide with disbelief as he stared briefly at Prowl. "Everybody get ready to jump!" Prowl called out, shouting over the roar of the rush of air, the speed they were tearing through as they raced towards the compound.

Fireflight and Thundercracker were still circling over head, still firing down at the Decepticons in the open on the hanger dock and dodging the returning shots from the raiders and guards in hiding, trying to fight off the nearly unseen flyers attacking them when they both spotted the brilliantly exploding crash of the bouncer outside the hanger walls. Fireflight gasped audibly, wingtips shaking under the unexpected shock. He fell, losing altitude before Thundercracker dove to keep his wing, forcing a shock of air across his wingspan and jolting Fireflight from his distracted descent.

"We have to go help them!" Fireflight cried out, rolling sideways before Thundercracker could answer. The blue Seeker followed, trailing behind the Aerialbot and screaming low over the compound, pelting the dock with laser fire as they flew.

From behind the flaming paneling of the bouncer came four brilliant streaks of laser fire, arching up and over the bouncer's ruins and directed towards the Decepticons keeping the strike team pinned down outside the hanger's battlements. Two more laser blasts joined the four from the side, briefly illuminating the crouching forms of Hot Rod and Bluestreak firing together from a forward position of the rest of the team.

Fireflight shakily exhaled, entirely relieved at the sight. Thundercracker pushed closer, blasting close and low overhead the strike team before arching high with Fireflight. "Lets give them some cover fire," he growled out, dropping low to near the surface of the planet and racing at the outside of the battlements. Fireflight dropped down to the deck plating next to him, syncing his laser rifles with Thundercracker's once more before the two opened fire together.

The Decepticon's on the battlement firing outwards scattered, the exterior wall crumbling around the explosions from the conjoined firing of Thundercracker and Fireflight, tearing inwards from just above the street level. They fired again and again, not letting up on their relentless destruction. The battlement was consumed in a raging inferno, the fireball climbing higher and farther, engulfing the surrounding bulkheads as the two flyers flew closer and closer.

Prowl and Kup let up their own firing as the two flyers dropped into position in front of their team, blocking the incoming Decepticon fire and flying straight at the compound's exterior. "Let's move!" Prowl shouted, motioning around him for the rest of the team to start running on foot to the battlements. Bluestreak and Hot Rod took off first, the impact of the bouncer having thrown the both of them forward of the rest of the team. Sunstreaker raced alongside Ratchet, the medic sporting a long and jagged tear in his dermal plating, energon streaking across the side of his faceplates. Blaster had a cracked optic, Smokescreen a blackened doorwing. They pushed through, racing along behind their two flyers, clearing a path for their final assault on foot.

Fireflight and Thundercracker continued at full speed, still firing violently through the swirling fireball. They blasted through the compound's battlements side by side, wingtips overlapping as they closed in together. Metal fragments and shards exploded around them, fireballs licking their way over their armor plating and streaking off of their frames as they rolled sideways and separated, leaving a perfectly clear tear in the battlements for the ground team to push through.

As Thundercracker rose, climbing away from the still incoming fire of the stubbornly regrouping Decepticons, now charging several portable laser cannons they had hastily set up, an unholy explosion erupted from within Shockwave's compound, cascading through the enclosed laboratory in a series of bellowing booms. Thundercracker climbed, pitching high above the hanger dock as Fireflight continued to circle, veering closer to the compound.

A sudden blast erupted close to the exterior, followed by an external explosion of flame and fire, along with a streaking black and purple jet screaming out from the roof of the compound. Metal flew sideways as the fireball climbed through the newly created blasthole, stretching after Skywarp as he rolled high, arching upwards towards Thundercracker.

"Where's Starscream?" Thundercracker shouted out to his trinemate as Skywarp shakily leveled off below him.

"They're stuck!" Skywarp called back. "Follow me back inside!" Skywarp dove downward, heading straight back for his newly created opening of burning destruction. Thundercracker dove down after his trinemate.

Fireflight flew past, rolling backwards and sliding alongside Thundercracker. "We can't leave the others!" he shouted.

"Stay out here with them!" Thundercracker shouted back, not deviating his course downwards and after Skywarp a micron.

"I thought we never flew alone!" Fireflight shouted back to the blue Seeker.

"I can't leave my trinemate!" Thundercracker rolled away from Fireflight, the Aerialbot uncomfortably close. "I'll be right back." Skywarp disappeared back inside the flaming compound, dropping into the blazing break and out of sight. Thundercracker followed several astroseconds later, feeling the heat and the fire stretch out over his armor plating, dancing across his sensors painfully and igniting his O2 lines with too much heat.

Fireflight veered off, the flames scraping against his underbelly as he flew up and back around to the strike team. Prowl had led the mechs on foot to the flaming rend he and Thundercracker had physically blasted open, the team holding positions on the exterior as they still battled the Decepticon guards clinging fast to their defenses. He rolled forwards, intent on freeing his pinned friends.

Jazz fired another shot over the blackened offline terminal in the control hub, Starscream uselessly panting and wheezing by his side. Jazz winced against the burn in his shoulderjoint, gritting his denta as he pushed through it. The Decepticons closed in around him, two platoons sent down from Shockwave's private corps of guards, intent on entirely destroying them both.

Surrounding them were the burnt out remains of the control hub, fire still consuming the far wall, terminals blackened and damaged in the explosion. Jazz had been cavalier with his use of the explosives, using them to clear the room and offline the Decepticons within it with haste. Starscream was supposed to stand guard, stand watch while Jazz hacked the mainframe, now able to do so from directly within the operating network of the compound. The explosions, the fire, had fritzed the security systems of the network, too frantic and chaotic to notice Jazz's forcefully plunging into its data stream, riding the electrical currents until he navigated his way to the guardshield subdivision.  
Starscream had finally collapsed, too weak from lack of oxygen and shaking with the effort to drag in deep, heavy breaths. Blitzwing had knocked his lines askew, deflating two of the O2 lines and kinking the last while he slowly strangled the Seeker in his grip. Starscream's engines were slowing, his processor dizzy and choking, optics blurry, and he didn't react fast enough to slow the rushing of the Decepticons towards them. Jazz had come out from his hack taking heavy fire, Starscream doing his best to bodily shield him and drag him behind the terminals, though struggling under the effort.

Jazz heard the unclicking of a flash grenade, the soft sound of the lever being depressed and clicked into place before the Decepticon threw it towards them. He cursed, grabbing Starscream and diving sideways, sliding along the deck plating as fast as he could with the nearly unresponsive Seeker dragging alongside him. He had hoped that they wouldn't resort to flash grenades, to rockets, to explosives of any sort, fearing for their controls and mainframe. Unfortunately, Jazz's own cavalier use of his explosives, Decepticon stolen by Thundercracker and Skywarp, seemed to invite the rest of the Decepticons to follow suit.

Jazz swiveled behind a collapsed section of bulkhead, pulling Starscream's frame into his lap and leaning down low over his body, crouching down to shield his chest and faceplates from the explosion that rocked their tiny enclosed room. He rocked backwards, jolted by the sheer forces of the blast, though the bulkhead surrounding him absorbed most of the heat, fire and blasting bits of metal and destruction. It wouldn't do so a second time.

Jazz tried to move sideways, tried to roll away from Starscream and resume his firing, still trying to get the two of them out of there alive. He refused to give up, refused to back down; there was always another angle, another way to escape. He just had to find it.

Starscream's blue hand reached shakily for his arm, gripping down with surprising strength for the nearly offline Seeker. "Stay here," Starscream choked out, wheezes hissing by his words. "They're coming."

Jazz frowned down at the Seeker, shaking his arm loose and attempting to fire blindly back over the terminal, trying to push back the steadily advancing soldiers on their position. "I'm trying t' get us out o' here alive," Jazz hissed back, firing again.

Screams of pain and shock echoed from outside the control hub, tracing backwards down the corridor. The Decepticon soldiers turned, whirling around to stare at their comrades, their teammates trying to flee from the sudden onslaught of Thundercracker and Skywarp's terrorizing flight through the compound.

The Seeker's blasted their way through, destroying bulkheads and shattering the compound around them in their destructive flight. The shock and complete surprise of the team's attack had unbalanced the compound, Jazz and Starscream's destruction of the control hub combined with the immediate and hidden loss of Blitzwing creating a near total communications falure within the Decepticon ranks. The nearest next commander under Blitzwing was leading the assault on Jazz and Starscream's position, deep inside Shockwave's lab, unawares of the totality of the destruction and vicious assault occurring in the hanger dock.

The Seekers made use of that, adding to the complete destruction surrounding them, flying erratically and dangerously in their race for their trinemate. Skywarp dropped low, flying near the deck of the corridor, Thundercracker screaming by just above him as they raced down the final stretch of corridor, filled with Decepticons, towards the control hub, and Jazz and Starscream.

Skywarp winked out sight a moment later, optics and sensors and his bond finally keying into the signals and locations of his trinemate and Jazz, deep within the destroyed husk of the control hub. Thundercracker continued firing, drawing the attention and redeployment of the Decepticon forces pinning the original two back within the hub. He began taking fire, their laser burns scorching over his wings as Skywarp reappeared within the control hub, transforming and sliding erratically across the deck plating, out of control in his wild speed.

Starscream reached out shakily with his blue hands, gulping for air as Jazz rushed to right the fallen purple Seeker. Skywarp clambered up, disentangling himself from his impact at the far console, then raced to Starscream's side together with Jazz. The both of them hefted the red Seeker up, Starscream's arms wrapping around Skywarp's helm, clinging to his shoulder vents in an effort to stand.

Skywarp gritted his denta. ::TC, I need to warp them out. Starscream's hurt bad.:: Skywarp's voice flooded Thundercracker's processor, pain and anger lashing though his words, alongside a near painful stab of fear for Starscream, a fear Thundercracker couldn't share.

::Get going, I'll be alright:: Thundercracker rolled tightly, wings scraping the edges of the corridor that was not built for evasive flight, igniting his afterburners and thundering away with a too loud crack, escaping down the flight path he and Skywarp had roughly created.

Skywarp grabbed Jazz's forearm, bodily dragging the Saboteur closer to him as he clutched Starscream tight with his other arm. "Hold on," he muttered to them both, focusing his processor on the coordinates he'd briefly captured of the hanger dock, just outside their compound. The Decepticons had split their attentions between Thundercracker's escape and the remaining invaders within the control hub. They resumed their fire, laser shots arching into the room and passing through the disappearing frames of Skywarp, Starscream and Jazz as they warped away, disappearing in a purple haze.

Springer's O2 lines burned, too hot with fire and smoke as he desperately raced for the hanger dock. His Wreckers followed, coughing and sputtering on the flames and choking gases, the smoke that surrounded them all. The Decepticons were long gone, dispatched again and again as they drew their fire, drew their ire as they raced aimlessly around the compound. Jazz and Starscream were able to slip through to the control hub between the joint distractions of Skywarp, Springer and the Wreckers drawing the main forces of the Decepticons wrath onto themselves.

As the guardshield had fallen, shaking the compound with the cease of the thrumming electricity, Springer had ordered his mechs to fall back, to escape the steadily consuming burning inferno of the compound.

They didn't have an interior map of the compound though, didn't have a guide or a grid for their wanderings, didn't have a clue where they had gone to. They had tried to map their twisting turns, their racing along the corridors, but had to detour and evade on their return attempt around fire, around chaos, around the destruction, that the guides they had written for themselves were now useless.

"Hit the deck!" Springer turned backwards towards the too loud, hoarse, choking shout to see a raging fireball exploding down the corridor towards them, expanding too fast for their escape. At the lead, tearing away from the curling flames even as they tickled his wings, was Thundercracker, the blue Seeker rolling and pushing himself faster and harder down the corridor, straight for the bulkhead.

"Down! Everymech down!" Springer hollered, dropping down to the deck plating and covering his helm just as Thundercracker screamed overhead, followed less than an astrosecond later by the chasing flames. Springer screamed, deep and throaty, hearing the echoing screams and groans from his Wreckers around him as the fire tore over him, tore over them all, too hot and burning against their armor plating, against their internals.

An unholy explosion sounded just in front of them, conjoined with the audial-piercing loud crack of a sonic boom, shaking and rocking the compound to its foundations. The flames followed, freed from the confines of the corridor now in a bursting explosion, chasing after Thundercracker and the explosive tear he had wrenched through the exterior bulkheads.

Springer raised his helm shakily, seeing the outside darkness, illuminated by the lights of the hanger dock and shadowed against the hulking form of the freighter. "Everymech here?" he called backwards, pushing himself back to his feet, dropping low and glancing around as his Wreckers did the same, grunts and nods in affirmation amidst shaking helms and flickering optics.

Springer nodded back to his mechs, then motioned twice with his arm to head out, to move forward, finally freeing themselves from the compound and onto the hanger dock with the perfectly timed assistance of Thundercracker.

A streaking flame, rising sharply from the battlement walls, caught Springer's optics as they all climbed through the ragged tear in the compound's bulkhead, setting up in formation again on the dock and beginning to fire again instantly at the Decepticons still ringing the exterior. He followed the tracing lines upward against the dark sky, optics finally landing on the erratically evading form of Fireflight, pinned between three surface to air laser cannons. "Concentrate your fire on those cannons!" he hollered again, raising his rifle and motioning for a forward advance.

Prowl dropped low to the dock as the compound exploded violently to their side, expelling Thundercracker and too much burning flame a moment later. There couldn't be anything left in there, not after their terrible destruction. Jazz had warped out with Skywarp and Starscream only a few klicks earlier, reappearing across the hanger dock and staying back. Jazz was laying low and firing outwards from their hidden and concealed position while Skywarp tried to help Starscream. Jazz's terse communication had revealed much more than his few simple words; the Seeker was not in good shape.

Sunstreaker held his position at Prowl's side, crouching low and firing again, even as his optics darted backwards to Ratchet's form every klick. Smokescreen and Bluestreak moved as one, twin forms shadowing each other's moves against the far wall.

"Fraggit, Hot Rod!" Kup's angry shout reached Prowl's audials and he turned briefly, catching sight of the crimson and gold mech clambering alone up the destroyed battlement walls. The Decepticons were still on the top, guarding and defending the laser cannons as they targeted Fireflight and Thundercracker, flying high above their position. They repositioned, several turning to fire on Hot Rod, the younger mech entirely exposed and out in the open.

Kup growled as he clambered up after Hot Rod, the young mech already racing forward into the firing Decepticons, firing wildly himself as well. His charge startled the guards, unbalancing their shots. Blaster followed Kup, the older mech dropping low and firing around Hot Rod's running charge, laser shots impacting the Decepticon guards in the feet, the lower legs, sending them crashing downwards to the deck plating and off the battlements. Blaster keyed his radio dials on, stepping forward of Kup and suddenly blasting a surging rage of too loud, too entirely obnoxious music, noise and cacophony exploding around the battlements at the same moment the guards began taking fire from the side. Prowl whirled his helm back around, clambering back up from his low crouch as Springer and the Wreckers moved across the hanger dock, finally free from the destroyed compound.

"Let's move!" Prowl shouted, Sunstreaker still at his side. Bluestreak and Smokescreen moved as one, bounding overwatch and firing together as each moved, covering the other in a continuous firing streak towards the center of the dock. Ratchet, staying back and low behind a fallen bulkhead panel, raced forward, falling in step behind Sunstreaker as he and Prowl moved off, firing together as Bluestreak and Smokescreen had done.

Kup raced forward, running across the battlements to Hot Rod and reaching the younger mech just as Hot Rod drove the stock end of his rifle directly into the faceplates of the last Decepticon gunner manning the first laser cannon. Blaster followed, keying down his disorienting music and swinging around the two mechs.

"Slaggit, Hot Rod, you're going to get yourself fragged one cycle!" Kup growled at the younger mech. Hot Rod ignored Kup, not even sparing a harsh glare as he rearmed the cannon, charging the firing core and repositioning the guidance system. He turned, legs gripping the cannon stock as it swung down, away from its position on Fireflight and Thundercracker..

Hot Rod slammed the cannon back into locked position as the barrel fell, now aligned entirely, directly down the battlements, each of the other two laser cannons in his sights. Kup and Blaster raised their rifles, firing at the Decepticons manning each of the other two, now firmly aware that something had gone wrong with their third cannoneer. The two mechs covered Hot Rod as he set the final firing sequences, then unloaded fully upon the two other cannon teams. The laser cannons exploded in brilliant flashes of white hot flame, spires of fire streaking straight vertical under the force of the explosion and consuming the fleeing Decepticons as they tried to escape the blast.

Hot Rod threw an ugly glance sideways to Kup as he stepped back from the cannon, grabbing his discarded rifle. Kup continued to glare at the younger mech, roughly grabbing his arm as they both raced back down the battlements, scampering across the destroyed section and following Prowl's advance.

Prowl ducked low again with Sunstreaker and Ratchet, covering behind the last concealment on the hanger dock before they made the final dash to the freighter. Decepticon fire poured in around them from their last stronghold at the far edge of the battlements, a company of raiders holed up and standing firm. The compound blazed to their right, dim explosions still fueling the raging fire from deep within its housing.

Bluestreak and Smokescreen covered to their right, both back to back, doorwing to doorwing, crouched behind a too-small terminal and trading shots around the frame. Springer and the Wreckers had finally made it to the freighter, taking cover underneath the hulking frame and landing gear, firing outwards across the dock. Their angle was terrible though; Prowl and the Decepticon raiders were firing head on, Springer's team unable to catch good coverage of either party.

Thundercracker and Fireflight reemerged, finally descending from their high flight over the compound and away from the cannon fire. They dove low, Fireflight in the lead this pass as they circled the battlements once more. Thundercracker fired around the form of Fireflight, the younger Aerialbot drawing the bulk of the raider's incoming laser fire.

"Go!" Prowl motioned to Bluestreak and Smokescreen to take off running for the freighter as Hot Rod, Kup and Blaster moved in after them, diving low and squeezing together behind the vacated terminal.

Thundercracker and Fireflight peeled away, rolling up and around the compound again, disappearing behind the towering flames. Bluestreak and Smokescreen ran low and fast, blitzing Springer's team as the Wrecker's provided shaky cover fire. Smokescreen transformed just before reaching the freighter, sliding sideways and throttling hard, tires screaming as he drove around the raised platform surfaces of the freighter and bellowing out a thick, black, oily smoke from his tailpipe, obscuring the entire team.

"Go! Go!" Prowl shouted, rising to run with Sunstreaker as Kup, Hot Rod and Blaster followed suit, firing blind shots across the dock to the Decepticons, now blinded from their race to the freighter thanks to Smokescreen's camoflauge. Sunstreaker grabbed Ratchet's arm, pulling him up and racing alongside the medic, the two of them falling into step with one another behind Prowl.

::Jazz?::

::We're movin' now.::

Prowl barreled through the thick smoke, optics blind as he pushed forward. He emerged moments later, coughing and shaking his helm, Springer's Wreckers spread out around the freighter and Bluestreak racing up the onramp. Kup, Hot Rod and Blaster punched through the smoke ring to his right, Sunstreaker and Ratchet emerging directly behind him a half astrosecond later.

Another explosion sounded outside the smoke ring, causing Springer and the Wreckers to drop low again, rifles up and ready to fire through the smoke, ready should anything Decepticon come barreling through. Prowl ran underneath the freighter as Sunstreaker and Ratchet followed Bluestreak aboard, Blaster running up behind.

Prowl's optics wandered over the black cloud, crisscrossing the area Jazz had been hiding in. He breathed heavily, vents cycling deep and fast as he waited.

"Contact," the Wrecker at Prowl's feet muttered, gripping his laser rifle tightly and half depressing the trigger.

"Wait!" Prowl shouted, taking a half step forward, holding his breath, watching the smoke, willing the familiar form of his bondmate to appear.

"Help us!" Skywarp's voice suddenly shouted through the smoke, coughing and choking on his intakes.

Prowl dove back into the black smoke ring, optics blinded again but following the voice of the purple Seeker. He reached his hands out, bumping them into the hard armor frame of another mech after two steps. "This way," he called, chocking as he spoke. "Almost out." He backed them all up, coughing and sputtering as he dragged the mechs from the smoke. A hand had gripped down onto his as he clutched the armor of the other, unseen in the blackness and unknown. As he emerged, he glanced down to the near-offline faceplates of Starscream, blue hand gripping down on his white one as he dragged the trio of mechs, Skywarp and Jazz bracketing Starscream and struggling under his weight, out of the smoke.

Prowl's optics met Jazz's quickly, relief and pride and love shining outwards. Jazz moved aside, motioning for Prowl to take his position carrying Starscream, briefly squeezing Prowl's arm as he did so. "Let's get goin'," Jazz said, coughing slightly from Smokescreen's smoky ring. "Thundercracker and Fireflight are comin' in now."

The four began to quickly cross back underneath the freighter as the roaring rush of Thundercracker and Fireflight erupted through their smoke ring, utterly destroying and dissipating the smoky enclosure in their too-fast crash. Thundercracker was gripping Fireflight in mech mode, both mech's arms wrapped tight around the other's frames as they crashed to the deck plating.

Springer raced to their sides. "What happened?" he shouted downwards as Thundercracker groaned, rolling sideways and off of the Aerialbot. Fireflight shook his helm shakily, unsteadily rising slowly as Thundercracker pushed himself to his hands and kneejoints.

"EMP blast…" Thundercracker panted. "Didn't hit us… but knocked him out of his alt mode." Fireflight made it to his feet first, reaching downwards wordlessly to haul Thundercracker upwards, draping the blue Seeker's arm over his shoulderjoint. The EMP blast had singed his circuits, burning through and freezing his processor briefly in the jolting shock, enough for his root mode to take over, for him to begin to fall from their already too low flight. Too low to reform into his alt mode before he crashed. Thundercracker had swooped down, transforming in mid-air to grab him, propelling them both though the smoke ring and rejoining the team in a loud, painful scraping crash.  
Thundercracker's optics caught on Skywarp's as they met at the base of the ramp. Thundercracker raked over Starscream's silent form, ragged vents hissing inwards shakily.

Jazz stepped forwards to Springer as Prowl turned, guiding Skywarp and Starscream up the ramp, followed by Thundercracker and Fireflight, still leaning heavily against the other. "Time t' go," Jazz said, even as the Wreckers opened fire again on the Decepticon raiders, now able to clearly fire into the smoke ring through Thundercracker and Fireflight's hole.

Springer smiled. "Get out of here. We'll cover you."

Jazz nodded as Springer turned back to his mechs, moving into position to rejoin their firing line. "We'll take as many out for ya as we can as we lift off." Jazz backed up against the ramp, crouching low to avoid the incoming fire once more.

Kup and Hot Rod joined Jazz, finally making their way up the ramp with the Saboteur. Jazz and Kup backed up together, firing outwards before turning and racing up the final steps.

Hot Rod held back, crouching low as the ramp started to rise. "Springer!" he called.

Springer turned his helm, catching Hot Rod's faceplates on the closing ramp. "What, youngling?"

"Be careful! And take care of Ultra Magnus!" Hot Rod's young optics shinnied brightly, worried confusion and too much care belying his aggressive features, his arrogant attitudes.

Springer smiled roguishly at Hot Rod as the ramp elevated the last bit. "Don't you worry, youngling. We'll be waiting for you when you get back." Springer fired outwards, three laser shots in quick succession against an unseen target. "Besides, we have better things to do than die up here."

The ramp closed, Hot Rod's smirk the last thing Springer saw before he reformed his Wreckers for their assaulting escape.

Prowl stood at the controls on the command deck of the freighter, Thundercracker leaning heavily against the back terminal as Fireflight still supported him bodily. Prowl had dumped Starscream into Ratchet's waiting arms, Skywarp still supporting the bulk of his trinemate as they moved deep into the freighter. Sunstreaker helped lift Starscream, each of them carrying the unconscious Seeker inwards for Ratchet to begin to repair.

"Tell me this is operational, Thundercracker," Prowl shouted backwards to the Blue Seeker. With Starscream down, Thundercracker was the next best thing to their scientist.

Thundercracker squinted down at the readouts, optics flickering over the data coming across the screen. "Yes, yes it is," he grunted. "Looks like they finalized the crystal installation into the drivetrain a few joors ago."

Prowl sighed in relief as Jazz raced up onto the command deck, bypassing Kup and Blaster as he ran. "Time t' go, Prowler," Jazz called as he slid in front of the piloting terminal low at the front of the command deck.

"Take us out, Jazz." Prowl gripped down around the terminal housing as he felt the ship shudder, start to shake under the powering up of the engines, the engaging of the thrusters beneath Jazz's steady fingers at the controls. The landing gear retracted, burying inside the frame of the freighter as the engines burned hotter, brighter, steadily and slowly raising the ship from its home at the hanger dock.

"Blue!" Jazz called over his shoulder to the gunner, standing nervously off to the side of Prowl. "Get over t' those controls and get Springer some cover fire!"

Bluestreak quickly moved across the command deck, Prowl joining him and glancing over his shoulder as the grey gunner's hands flew over the unfamiliar controls. The targeting screen flashed on the terminal display, Springer's Wreckers and the Decepticon raiders still trading shots as they moved away from the rising freighter.

Bluestreak refocused the targeting sensors, locking the display onto the Decepticon raiders before pushing into the firing sequence, unloading nearly half the arsenal of the freighter into the Decepticons. They exploded, burning into near oblivion as the compound shattered around them, entirely offlined under the impact. Bluestreak and Prowl spotted the Wreckers transform, Springer rising high above his team and taking the lead as they all tore away from the destroyed, demolished, entirely ruined Decepticon compound, still burning into the off cycle.

Jazz rose higher, arching the freighter's bow into the sky and rolling to the left, roaring above and over the lights and buildings of Kaon. Prowl left Bluestreak, moving to stand next to Jazz at the piloting terminal, watching his bondmate and their viewscreen as Jazz expertly continued rolling the freighter out of Cybertron's atmosphere, breaking orbit and gunning the thrusters, rocketing them away from the planet's surface in a soundless flash of light.

Prime folded his arms over his chassis as he listened to Whitmore over the satellite radio. Red Alert stood next to him, faceplates set in a deep frown. On his other side were several humans, Army personnel in charge and leading the human contingents of their allied attack. Trailbreaker stood behind him, along with several human Army intelligence officers. Trailbreaker wasn't battle ready, not at all, but entirely refused to stay behind and out of the fight. He was helping coordinate the joint operations and intelligence sharing between the Autobots and the humans, safely on the base.

"We don't have any idea where they took him?" The Army Major growled at Prime's side once more.

Whitmore sighed, static crackling over the satellite feed. "No, sir. We were taking heavy fire from the humans when the jets transformed and grabbed him."

Hound had been knocked offline, entirely unconscious when Thrust, Dirge and Ramjet streaked overhead, peppering the trail with laser fire and sending Whitmore, Martinez and 'Bee scrambling. Ramjet continued to circle overhead, pinning the three back as Dirge and Thrust dove down the ravine, transforming and grabbing Hound's broken frame from his explosive crash landing down the side of the canyon. 'Bee had been firing at Ramjet when he saw the three Seekers reform, Hound dangling from between Thrust and Dirge's mech modes as they all flew off, as fast as they had arrived, deeper into the mountains.

Whitmore and Martinez had made short work of the humans that had attacked them as well, grenades and rockets interspersed with gunfire that was far, far more accurate than the untrained villagers. Their lifeless bodies lay on the trail where they fell, 'Bee furiously trying to track and trace the fleeing Decepticon Seekers as they disappeared behind the dampening field once more.

"Have you lost the shipments? Can you still track their movements to Megatron?" The Major spoke again, rough and angrily.

"No, sir. They got away." Whitmore scrubbed his face with his hands, rubbing over his scraggly beard as the Major cursed over the line. "Martinez found a few village kids though. They say they know where to go."

Martinez stood off to the side, leaning down low next to three young, frightened boys, wide eyed and speechless as they stared at 'Bee in his mech mode. Martinez was trying to speak to them in broken Pashto, fingers drawing rough pictures in the dirt as the boys nodded to him, again and again, still not taking their eyes from 'Bee.

"Do you think you can trust them?" Whitmore squinted hard at the young boys as the Major's voice broke across the feed again, crackling briefly with static.

"I don't know what the others were up to, sir. I think Megatron must have somehow paid them for their services, paid them to set that IED. They knew we were onto the shipments and were trying to get us off their trail."

"Or he intimidated them," 'Bee cut in, interjecting. "They looked pretty terrified when they saw us transform."

"I'd like to follow the kids, sir," Whitmore continued, holding his breath as the line was silent. "Right now it's our only lead."

Prime shared a look with the Major, both searching each other's faces and faceplates. They were fast running out of time, with no word and no contact from Prowl's team on Cybertron. Megatron had greatly increased his arsenal of weapons, finally kicking the Army's collective aft's into gear in response to his sudden shift in weapons dominance.

Wheeljack slipped into the control room behind the pair, standing alongside Trailbreaker silently and watching Prime. He had just come from the medtent, from Mirage. The spy was shaky, his normally prim composure shattered underneath the shock of entirely losing contact with his bondmate. "I can't feel him, Wheeljack," Mirage had whispered, optics pleading and empty. "I can't feel him at all. What does thatmean?"

Wheeljack hadn't been able to answer.

"You realize," the Major started speaking again. "That you're putting the fate of the world in the hands of these three boys? Megatron now has four SS-27's somewhere in these mountains. We have a 250 mile diameter of where his hideout might be, and you want to follow three boys into the unknown to try to find him?"

"Sir, I don't know any other course or option at the moment." Whitmore called back, voice breaking over the commline. "It's a slim chance, but at least there is a chance with this. It's better than returning to base. Sir."

"I'd like them to try," Prime spoke softly down to the Major, vocalizer firm and unyeilding.

The Major locked his eyes on Prime's faceplates again for a long moment before he turned back to the radio, sighing heavily before he spoke again. "Alright, you three follow after them. Keep in contact. We're moving out as well."

Whitmore acknowledged the order before dropping the line as the Major turned back to Prime. "We need to get moving," he said. "It's time for us to close on their position. We'll have to narrow down the coordinates with overflights and, hopefully, LT Whitmore and your mech's success with these boys."

Prime nodded slowly. They were still a cycle ahead of their schedule, Prowl wasn't due back for one more cycle, but it still felt too late. The world was spinning faster and faster with Megatron's darkness and evil seeping outwards and collecting more and more dangerous devices, more and more tendrils of hatred wrapping around the humans. It was too much, and Prime still couldn't see, couldn't see the formation of Megatron's plan, the reason behind this. He normally could; Megatron, for all his destruction and devastation, was a logical mech, fueled and powered by his one purpose. This seemed too unusual, too outside the norm for Megatron's usual schemes, his usual plans and tactics.

The Major slipped by Prime, nodding to the rest of the Army personnel to follow him. Trailbreaker smiled weakly to Wheeljack before following suit, his position now with the human military to best share and utilize their resources in their shared mountain firebase.

Red Alert sighed and frowned again, shaking his helm as he stared down at the data pad in his hands. "There's one thing I don't understand, Prime," he said, still shaking his helm.

Prime's lipplates quirked upwards wryly. "Just one?"

Red Alert ignored the attempt at humor. "Whitmore's report said the villagers that attacked them had iridium cubes hidden in their robes and bags." Red Alert glanced up at Prime, still frowning. "Why? I don't understand the iridium."

Wheeljack stuttered, vocalizer hissing with static as his audial fins flashed overbrightly. He optics widened as he groaned, before offlining entirely. How could he have missed this? How could he have been so thoughtless? He had been so wrapped up in the rest of the mission, in Prowl, in Jazz, in their sparks, and then Ratchet, Sunstreaker and moving the entire base, that he hadn't thought. He simply just hadn'tthought.

Prime frowned and crossed to Wheeljack, standing in front of the inventor with a worried look. "Wheeljack? Are you alright?" Red Alert quietly crossed over to his side as well, reaching out gently for his arm.

"I'm sorry, Prime," Wheeljack choked out, onlining his optics. "I didn't think. I just didn't think about this before." Wheeljack swallowed, gears sticking tight in his throat.

Prime stared heavily downwards. "What is it, Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack sighed deeply, inhaling shakily. "Iridium has several different uses. Its properties are exceptional enough that it's applicable to completely different areas of science. One of the more … unique applications lies within fusion power physics." Wheeljack looked upwards unsteadily, catching the blank and unknowing faceplates of Red Alert and Prime. He sighed again.

"Prime, iridium is one of the best collectors of gamma rays, the offshoot energy of a fusion nuclear reaction. It can harness the power, focus the energy…" Wheeljack trailed off as Prime's nodded slowly, inhaling deeply.

"That's how they're planning on collecting the energon," he murmured.

"Worse," Wheeljack muttered, vents cycling air forcefully. "The gamma rays collected in the iridium can convert to super-concentrated energon. It can be a great power source; one cube can last for vorns."

"But?" Red Alert spoke finally, faceplates pinched with worry as Prime stared down at Wheeljack.

"But it's too unstable," Wheeljack continued nervously. "One cube can also destroy the entire planet."

Red Alert's faceplates slacked in shock, his mouthplates dropping open wordlessly. Prime inhaled slowly. "How many cubes did LT Whitmore report he found on the villagers?" Prime asked softly.

"At least 10," Red Alert whispered, thumbing shakily through the data pad in his hands.

Wheeljack tilted his helm sideways, audial fins emitting a low, thrumming light. "And that's only what the humans had. Primus knows what Megatron has hidden in his base."


	18. Chapter 18

Crash into You

Chapter 18

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**Welcome to the final chapter. (M rating for battle violence & spark merges)**

**Once again, thank you to EVERYONE, every single reader on here. Thank you. So much.**

**Enjoy... and read the Epilogue. ;-)**

**________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

Hound blearily awakened, processor operating far too slowly and deeply fragmented. His optics flickered, unable to fully online. He gasped, vents barely operating as he dragged in shaking, uneven breaths. His audials faintly picked up the sounds of other mechs around him, the sound of tools, of cutting metal and soldering. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't see around him. What was happening? Where was he? Had Bumblebee recovered him, brought him back to the base? Where was Mirage?

"Hello?" Hound tried to croak out, only managing a soft choke, a whisper of sound.

"He's online." Scrapper glared downwards into the Autobot's faceplates, optics narrowing to slits as Hound's optics flickered once more before dieing out.

Hook paused in his work for only an astrosecond, looking up Hound's frame to his gasping faceplates before raising his optics further to stare at Scrapper. "I've disconnected his processor from his body. He can't do anything."

Scrapper continued to stare downward at the Autobot Jeep, locked for the moment in his mech-mode as Hook went back to his work. Scrapper began moving, circling slowly around the laid-out form, internals spread wide and exposed on the makeshift operating table. Hook reached for the connection circuit he had fabricated, glancing sidelong at the devices resting on the next berth, waiting to be attached to the peripherals of the Autobot through his newly created circuits. Human and Cybertronian devices did not consistently mesh with universal protocols.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, loud and heavy underneath the metal reinforced compact dirt flooring of their mountain base. A long shadow fell across the room, covering Hound's form on the berth and half of Scrapper's faceplates as Hook looked upwards to their new arrival.

"Status of the implantation?" Soundwave's monotone voice reverberated through the small workspace.

"We're ahead of schedule," Hook said, meeting the crimson optics of the Decepticon 3IC. "He'll be ready to go soon."

Soundwave's optics shifted, staring unmoving over the Autobot's form. Rumble and Frenzy bracketed their creator, their leader, on each side. Frenzy, closest to the next berth, couldn't resist reaching out to finger the human technology, wires bleeding from the access junctions around the brightly painted caution and warning symbols.

"Do not touch that." Scrapper's voice startled Frenzy, the smaller Cassette jumping backwards and glaring in twin form with his brother Rumble back to the Constructicon.

Soundwave turned his helm to Scrapper, holding his gaze for a long moment in heavy silence, optics pulsing yet betraying nothing. Finally, he turned, moving to the doorway with both of his Cassettes in tow. He stopped just before crossing the threshold, helm turning sideways as his profile cast a shadow back into the room. "Constructions: Report when project completed."

-

Prowl found the three Seekers in the freighter's Rec Room, a stripped and efficient mess hall with an energon dispenser at one end. Ratchet had had Sunstreaker push several tables together, scrambling all the chairs off to the side of the room, and had laid Starscream across the joined surfaces. It was the best make-shift medbay he could create on the freighter, as they were blasting out of Cybertron's orbit and heading back to Earth.

Starscream was resting on the tabletops, O2 lines repaired and wingjoints realigned from Blitzwing's assault. Skywarp sat next to him, slumped backwards in one of the mess hall chairs dragged next to the table and resting his helm on his forearms leaning up against the table surface. Thundercracker stood apart, leaning backwards against the far wall with his arms crossed over his frame, optics offline.

The stench of fire, smoke and singed circuitry clung to the blue and purple Seekers. Prowl coughed slightly as he entered the room, drawing the attention of all three flyers.

"Where's Ratchet?" Prowl's gaze swept between Skywarp and Thundercracker.

"Went to the washracks a few breems ago." Thundercracker leaned forward, pushing himself off of the wall and standing squarely on his own two feet once more.

Prowl nodded. The freighter had a small and efficient set of washracks, the first the entire team had seen since leaving Earth and the Ark. "You both should pay them a visit as well." His vocalizer was firm; it wasn't a suggestion.

Skywarp didn't budge, remaining at Starscream's side as Thundercracker slowly nodded and moved towards the doorway. "Let's go, Skywarp," Thundercracker said, looking backwards to his trinemate.

Skywarp's optics lingered on Starscream's frame as the red Seeker pushed himself upwards into a sitting position, resting backwards against his hands. "Go, Skywarp," Starscream said, voice lacking his usual bitterness. "Prowl and I need to talk."

Skywarp finally nodded, slowly rising to his feet in exhaustion and trailing his fingertips across Starscream's outer thigh seam as he moved away from the joined tabletops. Thundercracker waited for the purple jet at the doorway before they both moved off under Prowl and Starscream's gaze.

"That's didn't go quite according to your plan," Prowl began, slowly moving towards Starscream's tabletop.

Starscream didn't meet Prowl's optics, rolling his newly repaired wingjoint. "We got out of there, didn't we?" Prowl didn't answer, though his optics roamed over Starscream's repaired wing edge. "Are you both ready for your mission?" Starscream finally met Prowl's optics, true curiosity shining forth.

Prowl nodded, lipplates pressed together in a thin line. "We are, though we still haven't picked anything up on long range sensors yet."

"You and I both know they're out there." Starscream held Prowl's gaze before looking downwards, vents cycling angrily suddenly as he growled. "I can't wait for you two to be gone," he hissed. "You wont be able to use this against me anymore!"

"I'm not fond of this situation myself." Prowl's optics remained firmly fixed on Starscream as the red jet squirmed, inhaling deeply and refusing to meet Prowl's gaze. "I'd like you to look over the spacebridge drive before we engage the system in a few joors."

Starscream nodded, looking downwards at the smooth surface of the tabletop, blue hands gripping down around the edges painfully. Prowl stood over the Seeker for a moment longer, optics still hard and unyielding as he stared downward. Finally, he turned, moving away and heading towards the doorway.

"You really should be careful, Prowl," Starscream spat out slowly. "You resemble Megatron more and more each cycle." Starscream raised his optics, finally meeting Prowl's shocked and angry blue pair with his own hateful crimson ones. "You both take something of me and turn it around. Use it against me." Starscream sneered nastily. "How dictatorial of you, Prowl."

Prowl dragged in a deep, ragged breath, forcing his systems to calm beneath Starscream's piercing words. He turned his helm away, preparing to leave again. "And what does Megatron have on you, Starscream?" He waited, unmoving for several astroseconds before Starscream rose from the tabletops and slid to the deck plating.

When Starscream looked back up, bitter retort on his glossa, Prowl was gone.

-

Ratchet padded down the corridor, armor finally clean and dry once more. He'd left the washracks as Thundercracker and Skywarp had silently trudged in, each moving to assist the other in a long-established routine. Jazz had been in there as well, and Ratchet had helped him scrub down before the Saboteur returned the favor.

Sunstreaker had naturally been the very first mech into the washracks, indeed, the mech who even found the washracks onboard. He'd spent nearly a joor under the spigot as Ratchet repaired Starscream and as Jazz plotted their course back to Earth. The Resistance mechs, with Bluestreak tagging alongside Smokescreen, had happily worked their way in as well alongside Sunstreaker, sharing the other spigots and starting an intricate and splashy water war. Sunstreaker left shortly after that, casting a glare towards the messy mechs on his way out.

Ratchet turned the corner and smiled, finally spotting the elusive form of his golden lover. Sunstreaker had buried himself down a deep and empty corridor, doorways leading to empty storage rooms and bare, unpowered cargo spaces, most likely designed to house and carry the energon cubes Megatron was planning on harvesting from the dead and irradiated Earth. The rest of the team had settled themselves in the large hanger, away craft and small shuttles spread out in their locking gear as the mechs settled in to relax on their journey back.

Sunstreaker glanced up from the meticulous cleaning of his laser rifle, disassembled parts and pieces strewn around him. Ratchet caught Sunstreaker's optics, seeing that warm depth settle within them as he watched Ratchet walk towards him. That look was Ratchet's own; it belonged exclusively to the medic. It never failed to excite him, to send jolts of electricity throughout his circuits, all leading straight to his spark.

Sunstreaker resumed his cleaning, digging into the bore of the barrel with a small, dirty rag while Ratchet settled down next to the golden twin, sighing contentedly as he leaned backwards against the bulkhead. After a moment, Ratchet rolled his helm sideways and watched the long yellow fingers work over and through the smooth metal of the rifle.

"Are you trying to make it shine like your armor?" Ratchet gently teased. "Is it supposed to match your brilliance?"

Sunstreaker snorted, lipplates briefly quirking upwards before pinching together in a tight line. He shook his helm. "I'm disgusting right now," he murmured. "I'm far from my normal brilliance."

Ratchet chuckled under his breath. "Even on your worst day, Sunny, you're still stunning."

Sunstreaker didn't respond, setting aside his rag and grabbing the body of the rifle before beginning to screw the barrel back into the housing. Ratchet kept watching, optics moving over the yellow hands and fingers as they worked into the delicate catches and parts of the weapon. "Cleanliness is important in maintaining your maximum fighting efficiency," Sunstreaker said finally, reattaching the forward grip handle. "The discharge can score the metal, or create buildup that can choke the firing core." He rotated the rifle's housing to display the back end, the discharge area for Ratchet. It was smooth, burned so by repeated laser discharges and a shiny, deeper black than the rest of the rifle. "See?"

Ratchet nodded slowly, lipplates smiling warmly. "I see. So there **is** a reason for your fanatical fastidiousness."

Sunstreaker shot Ratchet a glare, optics narrowing though the effect was muted by his lipplates slight quirk upwards again.

"I've noticed you and Bluestreak both clean your rifles after every battle. I wondered why you were both obsessive about it." Ratchet settled backwards again, shoulderjoints rocking backwards against the bulkhead.

Sunstreaker nodded. "Sides and I have taught him good habits."

Ratchet smiled again as he inhaled deeply, letting the sounds of Sunstreaker's cleaning and reassembly continue next to him. He turned, letting his gaze sweep over Sunstreaker once more, optics gently taking in the form next to him. He paused, sighing lightly and frowning as he reached out to gently finger the rough-edged and raised scar crossing Sunstreaker's lower side. "I can fix this for you when we get back."

Sunstreaker inhaled deeply at the touch, still focused on his reassembly. "You'd better," he grunted.

Ratchet smiled softly, fingers still trailing over Sunstreaker's armor. "You're welcome," Ratchet said gently, teasingly. "For saving your life."

Sunstreaker hummed, lipplates quirking again as his optics filled with that look, Ratchet's Look, once more. "You had ulterior motives for saving me." He began to clean the glass scope of his rifle, the clean corner of his rag swirling over and around the glass again and again as Ratchet quirked his optic ridges upward beneath his chevron. "You wanted me." Sunstreaker smirked, lipplates finally allowing him a small smile as his optics slid sideways to meet Ratchet's own briefly.

Ratchet laughed out loud, settling backwards against the bulkhead and withdrawing his hands into his lap once more. "I suppose you're right," he said, still chuckling.

Sunstreaker continued his cleaning with Ratchet next to him in silence, finishing with the scope lens and preparing to reattach it to the top of the housing. "Are you almost finished?" Ratchet spoke softly, not looking at Sunstreaker.

"Don't rush me," Sunstreaker grunted.

Ratchet sighed heavily, rolling his helm sideways over-dramatically against the bulkhead. "**Fine**. I guess I'll have to just fantasize about doing **unspeakable** things to your audial vents then…"

Sunstreaker's hands slipped as he tried to line up the scope housing, the attachment grinding down the barrel as he jerked in surprise. He inhaled sharply, quickly realigning the scope and clicking it into place, then grabbed the stock and roughly snapped it back on before settling the rifle down at his side quickly. "I'm done," he said, too fast, vocalizer pitched low.

Ratchet chuckled deeply, optics warming. "Come here…" he murmured, red hands reaching out for Sunstreaker. The golden twin's optics flashed again, Ratchet's Look shining outward as he clambered sideways to settle over the medic's legs and into Ratchet's lap.

Ratchet smiled upwards as Sunstreaker settled down into him, red hands resting gently on his hipplates as he fingered the armor beneath. Sunstreaker stared back down at him, still locked in that gaze meant only for Ratchet. Ratchet leaned forwards and captured Sunstreaker's lipplates in a gentle, light kiss, lipplates still stretched in a wide grin. Sunstreaker's hands slid up Ratchet's arms, resting lightly on his shoulderjoints as his thumbs played over the painted red crosses. Sunstreaker tilted his helm slightly, lipplates quirking upward and holding in a faint, tender smile. "You're my 'dirty old mech,'" Sunstreaker said softly, optics shining with repressed humor.

Ratchet shook his helm slowly, grin stretching to a wide smile. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" He sighed gently as Sunstreaker arched one optic ridge upwards. "I'm yours… for as long as you'll have me."

Sunstreaker leaned forwards, holding Ratchet's gaze as his lipplates softly captured Ratchet's in between his own, caressing them in a tender, lingering kiss. Ratchet moaned breathily beneath him, red hands rising to cup Sunstreaker's helm, thumbs beginning to play over the golden twin's audial vents. Sunstreaker inhaled shakily as he pulled back slightly, their panting vents intermingling as their helms rested together.

Sunstreaker's optics darted over Ratchet's faceplates, uncharacteristic nervousness buried beneath his steely resolve. Ratchet began to frown, lipplates parting in confusion as Sunstreaker hastily spoke, quietly whispering, "I want to feel your spark, Ratchet."

Ratchet's optics widened as he inhaled in surprise. Spark merges were serious, intimate interfacing that left nothing of the other hidden. It was a merging of their essences, their sparks, their souls, a brief experience of what an ultimate joining in a permanent spark bond could be. It generally signaled commitment, generally signaled permanency. Generally signaled an intent for a much deeper relationship. "Sunny," Ratchet breathed. "Can we even… I thought… What about Sideswipe?" Ratchet swallowed, red hands still cupping Sunstreaker's helm as his mouthplates hung open, confused, faceplates set in a small, worried frown.

Sunstreaker nodded, small movements of his helm up and down, brushing against Ratchet's own helm with their close proximity. "Sides has done it before, with others," Sunstreaker said softly. "I know we can do it."

Ratchet licked his lipplates slowly, drawing them together before he spoke once more. "Have you?" he whispered, staring into Sunstreaker's optics.

Sunstreaker held his gaze as he swallowed, gears in his throat rising and falling slowly. His optics pinched at the edges before he spoke. "Only with Sideswipe," he said huskily.

Ratchet exhaled the breath he hadn't known he had been holding. He rose upwards, drawing Sunstreaker's helm downwards the final few inches that separated them to his lipplates once more, seizing the golden twin in a harsh, demanding kiss. Sunstreaker moaned, hands gripping down on Ratchet's shoulderjoints as he returned the kiss just as possessively.

"What was this about doing unspeakable things to my audial vents?" Sunstreaker gasped, breaking the kiss to flash heated, burning optics down to Ratchet's faceplates. Ratchet smirked wickedly as his fingers drew up around the yellow vents, softly teasing over the surface as Sunstreaker shivered.

"You distracted me," he murmured, before he pulled Sunstreaker's rapidly weakening body back against him once more, turning the twin's helm to gain full access to one of his audial vents, fingers still dancing across the other. His glossa flicked out, tracing the slitted yellow armor plating as Sunstreaker whimpered against his chest plates.

Ratchet continued his oral fondling as Sunstreaker melted in his arms. Sunstreaker's hands roamed over his side seams, yellow fingers idly flicking in and out of Ratchet's transformation seams, running languorously up and down internal lines and cables, all while he panted and moaned, gasping soft whimpers and Ratchet's name. The sounds Sunstreaker made, coupled with the tender, exploratory touches heated Ratchet's internals slowly, burning through his systems deeper and deeper.

Sunstreaker gasped suddenly and pulled back as his chest plates began to separate, drawing apart with a soft click. He pushed backwards, yellow hands resting against Ratchet's shoulderjoints and arms fully extended as his chest plates continued to draw apart, revealing his perfectly formed spark chamber, spark within thrumming in abandon. His optics once again took on that uncharacteristic nervous hue, lipplates pressed together as he stared down into Ratchet's faceplates.

Ratchet had never before seen a more gorgeous sight than Sunstreaker, straddling his lap with his chest plates open, spark chamber exposed, entirely for him. Sunstreaker wanted that, that intimacy, that connection, from him. With him. The thought, the sheer emotion of the act lanced through his systems to the core of his spark. Ratchet inhaled deeply as his own chestplates separated, clicking apart as his windshield rose, disappearing into his subspace to expose his own, older spark chamber. It was almost painful, the movements of his joints and chestplates, with how long it had been since he had exposed his spark to another mech.

Ratchet's hands had fallen as Sunstreaker pulled backwards, landing on the golden twin's thighs. He slid them up, cupping Sunstreaker's hipplates gently in a loose hold as he held Sunstreaker's gaze. They both breathed open mouthplated, ragged, light vents in and out, again and again. Ratchet waited, not daring to move.

Sunstreaker finally leaned forward, vents increasing as he lowered his helm to Ratchet's, optics still locked onto each other. Their chests drew closer, sparks surging as they felt the presence of another nearby, yearning to join with their own similar forms. Sunstreaker's inner spark chamber clicked open first, spilling his brilliant sparklight around and between them, dancing over their faceplates and armor in cascading prisms. Ratchet's followed an astrosecond later as Sunstreaker's lipplates met his own, brushing against each other softly as their sparks energies surged, warm tendrils of the other wrapping gently around each other's spark, enveloping them in the soft, hesitant essence of the other.

Ratchet sighed into the kiss and wrapped his arms firmly around Sunstreaker, drawing the golden twin deeper, harder against him as his glossa slipped into Sunstreaker's mouth, tangling with the powerful glossa of his lover. Sunstreaker's spark erupted, consuming Ratchet's in a firestorm of emotion, of sensation, of pure and unrestrained Sunstreaker. Ratchet's helm spun, processor whirring as his own spark surged in response.

Cascades of each other flew between them both as they clung to each other, lipplates and glossas tangled and intertwined in a ceaseless kiss. The world around them collapsed to the feeling of their sparks, joined together as one between them, surging back and forth. Ratchet felt, to the base of his servos, the fierce pride that was Sunstreaker, the arrogance and dominance that drove his life, his need to pursue and consume each and every moment of his existence, to own his entire life within his two hands. He saw Sideswipe, buried deep within his spark, tender and cherished. He saw himself, next to Sideswipe, equally cherished in his cranky, temperamental, older ways, the long history of the two of them gently stretched out behind their ultimate joining, their union in the shelter's medbay amidst too much stray paint.

Sunstreaker felt Ratchet deep within him, the feel of the medic in the one place he'd never let another, aside from his brother who was half himself already. He felt Ratchet, felt the unfolding of his feelings, felt the blossoming of his own awareness within him. He saw the medic, racing across the battlefield, energon pounding in his lines as he raced towards another fallen friend, another comrade wounded. He heard the frantic calls for aid, for help, from Iacon to Kaon to Earth, each one within Ratchet's audials. He felt, deeply, the core of ferocity that refused to let Ratchet give up on anything; on a patient, on the war, on the Ark, on their mission. On Sunstreaker. He experienced, suddenly and without warning, the surging tenderness, the lust, the longing, the combined and conjoined frantic worry, ceaseless care and gear stopping completeness, the happiness that Sunstreaker unleashed within Ratchet, again and again.

It was perfection, it was bliss, it was everything they each wanted and more, the completeness of their own selves realized inside each other. How was it possible, after the vorns of their knowing each other, to finally find that missing piece of themselves within each other? Housed in each other's sparks? Their merge could have lasted forever, could have stopped time between them as they rocked back and forth, sparks flickering prisms over their frames and up the dark bulkheads. It had to stop though, had to cease as they both gently overloaded as one, under the too-deeply to be acknowledged emotions between them. They sighed softly against each other's lipplates, mouthplates, faceplates pressed together as they shuddered and trembled against the other, overloads triggered simultaneously across their sparks.

Finally, they pulled back, separating their joined sparks as their inner chambers clicked closed, chest plates sliding back together softly as they panted as one. Sunstreaker curled himself wordlessly against Ratchet, who seized Sunstreaker in a firm embrace as the both of them slid sideways to the deck plating together, falling exhausted into recharge under the tingling aftereffects of their spark merge, processors and sparks whirring with the thoughts and feelings of each other, too stunned and breathless to do more than stare into each other's optics.

-

"Decepticons…" Megatron breathed, gazing outwards over his assembled troops. "Our time has come." His voice rose, raspy depths arching louder as his optics roamed over the crowd. Soundwave, ever faithful, stood to his left, an empty place to his right where Starscream should have been. Before him were the gathered troops of the Decepticon forces, Megatron's entire contingent on Earth, assembled before him. Three were missing.

"Our war has waged for thousands of vorns, stretching across the galaxy all the way from our home, from Cybertron!" Megatron's voice rose sharply, shouting as his hands gripped into fists in front of his helm. "In our drive to exterminate the weak and the pathetic Autobots the war has cost us our resources, our energon! The Autobots refusal to submit to our ways, to the strength and power meant for the universe, has stretched our resources too thin." Megatron's optics slitted, fists lowering as he hissed forward. "We will change **everything**."

He stalked forward, glaring out over his troops as they all straightened, standing taller beneath his massive frame, his firm and unyielding gaze. "Our quest to eliminate the Autobot weakness from our universe is finally coming to a close." Megatron smiled, a cold, evil stretch of his lipplates that curled his lipplates in an ugly snarl. "The demise and utter destruction of our enemies on this pitiful organic world will ensure our complete energon success for eternity." His vocalizer was low, pitched deadly in the still cavern air.

Megatron smiled again, helm held high as he raised his fists upwards. "Decepticons!" he roared, lipplates snarling in his terrifying smile once more. "You have chosen the path of the strong! Of the powerful! Of the righteous rulers of the universe! **Seize** that power, that strength within all of you! Rise up! And join together in victory!"

The assembled Decepticons shouted, cheering and roaring in their combined glee, their rage and hatred for their Autobot foes shining forth, their convictions and pride in their own strength ringing out loudly, firmly over their gathered masses. Their conjoined energies thrummed, pure and unadulterated in their surging rage and purified vision of a future born of the strength of their own servos, of the power of their own lines, free and empty of Autobot weakness.

There's was the way of the strong, the way of the proud. The way of the few. The way of the mech who claimed his life, who rose up to seize his own future and force within his grasp, wrestling amongst the universe for their own strength and power. There's was the way of the mech who took control, without apologies, while the rest of them bowed to the superior strength of the next in line, a chain of power and courage stretching behind their ultimate, forceful leader. There's was the way of initiative, of change, of spark-fueled strength that could power the universe.

There's was the Decepticon way.

-

Starscream pushed harder against his chestplates, his spark thrumming wildly beneath and nearly out of control. He inhaled slowly through gritted denta, trying to calm his raging systems as he sat, alone, in a dark corner down one of the freighter's hallways.

The rest of the mechs were occupied, Prowl and Jazz holed up on the command deck, Ratchet mysteriously absent with Sunstreaker, Skywarp and Thundercracker spending private time together after their time in the washracks. Starscream still felt Skywarp within his processor, the tendrils of the purple Seeker tickling against his spark.

He pushed down harder against his chestplates.

His spark whined, the dark, merciless part of it he had so ruthlessly tried to quash, to destroy, rising up to consume the rest of its cold entirety. It surged, desperately wanting. Wanting what it could not have, not ever.

Starscream hated himself most like this, when he remembered. When he hoped. It was his greatest weakness, his greatest shame, to know he couldn't escape this dark part of himself. He had changed, had remade his life entirely to remove **this**. He had fallen, succumbing to the cold grip of Megatron consuming his life in excess, further pushing **this** far and away from his reality, from his life.

Starscream thumped his helm backwards against the bulkhead, images and feelings ghosting over his sensor net, thoughts and memories and imaginings cascading over his optics. White armor, purple armor, even blue armor. Red optics. Gunmetal grey armor. Cruel, perfect hands. Blue optics. A visor. Long, strong, red wings. Over and over again, the images flew together, blurring in one long string of painful desire. Of hope.

_Contain it all. Burn it out. Burn it out._ Starscream focused, trying to destroy them all, trying to push it all out of his processor, trying to bury his betraying spark beneath his cold hatred again, focusing on his tasks at hand, at what was to come.

His spark surged again, a different emotion rushing through it suddenly. Desire, of a different sort, rushed through, coursing and bleeding out through his entire system. He could taste victory, so close. He could feel the power within his servos, could sense the thrumming energy of the anticipation building within him. This was it. This was it.

It would all end so very, very soon.

-

They traveled in convoys and on foot, vast distances separating the units of men and machines as they moved forward. The artillery batteries advanced on either side of them, flanked by another two battalions of infantry. Their aviation support whirred overhead, the roar and thrum of helicopters still unusual and unnatural to Prime as he thought, each time, of the Combaticons beneath the rotors.

The sports cars were having a terrible time in the rough terrain, often reverting to mech mode to clamber forward on foot. Sideswipe had nearly blown his front tires, Tracks barely stopping the speeding, frustrated Lamborghini from his violent encounter with the local flora and fauna. Mirage was permanently in mech mode, dazed but pressing onwards, a fitful, worried set to his faceplates and optics despite his still-strong words. They only wavered slightly, every so often.

Mirage stood with Ironhide, Red Alert and Wheeljack, set away from Prime. Ironhide had no clue how to comfort the worried speedster and instead chose to be the strong, silent, hopefully comforting presence. His own confusion and worry over his comrade shown in his faceplates, and in the small frown he wore ever since receiving the news. Wheeljack cast determined looks to Mirage every so often, as if he could puzzle out of their predicament with another equation, another invention. Red Alert, of all of them, had been the most comforting to Mirage, the only one of the new command team also with a lover, a partner, thought not with a bonded mate. He stood next to Mirage in silence, bracketing the spy with his presence and understanding.

Prime turned back to the Major, paper map spread out over the Humvee hood and weighed down with useless, offline radios and spare M-16 clips. A fire team stood around the parked Humvee, turret gunner still maintaining his visual sweep and scan of the area around them.

"Here's the demarcation for the dampening field," the Major said, indicating to a jagged, dark line streaking down the map near their position. "We're several klicks inside it already."

Prime nodded as he leaned down, optics zooming in to read the tiny print and indications on the human map. "Best estimates across both our teams put his base in this area." Prime pointed to a mountainous valley several miles away. "It will be a difficult crossing to that location, for all of our personnel."

The Major nodded, lips pursed in a grimace. "Our best, realistic speeds put us there in about a day. We've got to physically traverse this entire region, possibly under fire." The Major leaned forward, palms pushing down against the hood. "Lets get a small scout team together for a forward recon."

Prime nodded. "Do not forget we also have LT Whitmore, Bumblebee and SPC Martinez out there as well."

The Major inhaled deeply and nodded. "I'd prefer not to bank the world's safety and continued existence on three mountain boys. However, if they somehow pull it off, if they somehow find the location of the base before we do, they would still need to get out from this damn dampening field, then contact the base, and then the base will have to contact us, after physically having to find us out here with an overflight." He shook his head. "We don't have that kind of time."

"Still," Prime said. "We should not lose faith. Bumblebee is one of my best soldiers and scouts. He was handpicked by my Special Operations Officer for this assignment, and has performed admirably in every way thus far, especially with your human soldiers. They form an excellent team." Prime gazed over the mass of troops, equipment and Autobots spread out below them on the mountainside. "We are also not entirely difficult to spot with your overflights." He turned his helm to arch an optic ridge to the Major. "Your base will be able to find us."

"And so will they," the Major grumped back. "These Decepticons are combat flight capable."

Prime nodded once before the Major began removing the weights from the map corners, repocketing the clips and folding the map once more. He turned to Prime, eyes burning with intensity and face set in a hard countenance. "Prime," he started, stepping closer. "We cannot let **any** of those devices go off. Not anymore."

Prime sighed as he stared back down into the Major's face. Privately and completely apart from the rest of the Autobots, from his new command staff even, and only with the most senior of the Army personnel, Prime had been cautioned that a few of the smaller, lower level devices exploding would be an acceptable loss in the battle. They were dirty bombs, the damaging radiation spreading no more than could be easily contained or dissipated. They were smaller bombs, hardly capable of inflicting the damage that Starscream had cautioned against. The human personnel were already taking anti-radiation pills; the detonation of a few, low-level devices was deemed an acceptable, albeit discouraged, loss.

Megatron had changed everything when he took possession of the SS-27's, the ICBM nuclear warhead missiles capable of long-range flight and timed explosions. Those could devastate, those could destroy. Those promised destruction, devastation and chaos. Those had to be stopped.

And then, the iridium cubes. Now, with the unexpected revelation of the existence of Megatron's secondary layer of his plan, the collection and acquisition devices for the byproduct effects of the fusion nuclear reactions, their battle scenarios had changed once more. Nothing could explode. Nothing. No bomb, dirty, low level, or SS-27 could detonate. The cost was too high, suddenly, with the instability of the collection cubes now known.

"We will do all in our power to stop Megatron, Major," Prime said, speaking slowly. "It is all we can do."

-

Prowl circled Megatron's throne in the private side anteroom off the freighter's command deck for the third time, eyeing the large and carefully crafted seat with a critical optic. He finally stopped squarely in front of it, doorwings rising as he inhaled, lipplates pursed together firmly.

He turned, backing himself a halfstep as he lowered himself down into the throne seat, doorwings spreading high and lifting to allow him to lean backwards, slowly. He exhaled, relaxing into the frame.

"You look surprisingly good in that, Prowl." Jazz's light, humorous voice broke across the room, startling Prowl as his helm swiveled sharply in surprise. "Delusions of tyranny on the horizon?" Jazz tilted his helm to the side, teasing smile playing over his lipplates.

"I just wondered how it felt," Prowl answered chagrined. "There aren't any other chairs to sit in here besides." Prowl gestured around the near empty anteroom, void of furniture aside from the one, large throne.

Jazz smirked as he lay their stripped and cleaned laser rifles on the deck plating by the door, then crossed the room slowly and circled Prowl's still seated form in the throne. He grinned, lipplates stretching as he eyed Prowl up and down, optics lingering over his strong-lined legs and well-built chestplates. Prowl slightly puffed up under the gaze, the feel of his bondmate's loving optics grazing over his form.

"You're right," Jazz said as he stopped in front of Prowl, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the armrests of the throne. "There aren't any other chairs in here." His lipplates stretched wide again, smirking once more as he clambered into Prowl's lap, legs bent on either side of Prowl's hipplates and seated legs. "I'll just have to sit myself down here as well."

Prowl grinned, chuckling lightly as his hands grabbed Jazz's hipplates, wrapping around the Saboteur's form and gripping down tightly. He leaned forward, kissing Jazz lightly on his nasal tip as Jazz wiggled it beneath his lipplates.

Jazz leaned backwards, hands interlocked behind Prowl's helm as he gazed thoughtfully downwards into Prowl's optics. "Prowl," he began softly, tone turned from his earlier teasing to something more questioning.

"Jazz?"

"How did you know?" Jazz tilted his helm to the side once more. "How did you **know** that Starscream wouldn't betray us? I didn't know." Jazz shook his helm.

Prowl stilled, swallowing suddenly as he stared back into Jazz's inquisitive faceplates. "I knew," he began slowly. "That Starscream valued something far higher among us than he did among the Decepticons." He chose his words carefully, obscuring more than he actually said.

Jazz frowned. "I still don't understand. Kup and Springer thought it was his bond, his trine. They didn't see him with them though." Jazz frowned harder, helm twisting again. "He doesn't care much for them, I thought."

Prowl inhaled deeply, shakily. He couldn't, wouldn't explain to Jazz what he had on the red Seeker, the shared emotions he knew the Seeker possessed. How he knew Starscream felt. Starscream had carried the Pax energies, the same energies housed within Prowl's spark, within his code, before Prowl. Each of them had experienced the gear stopping, tank churning wrench of emotions, the total and complete upheaval of Pax uniting with their own selves, their own emotions and histories, the totality and enormity of his unspoken and previously unconsummated love and devotion for Switch wrapped around their own memories and desires with that terrible, painful emotion. Prowl had been swept under, Pax seizing fast to his deeply buried and controlled feelings for Jazz, wrenching apart his iron-fisted grip on his own self and behaviors. He had torn it open, ripped it apart, desecrated the vorns and vorns of work Prowl had set to barricading his feelings behind.

What Starscream had felt, and whom he had felt it towards, Prowl didn't know. He did know that the experience had been just as entirely destroying, as entirely spark fracturing as his own had been. Starscream's reactions to Jazz, after the Saboteur had internalized the Switch energies, had proven that. The echoes of Pax, entirely removed from the Seeker and yet still effecting his processor, his spark, were still pulling on those long-forgotten emotions within the red Seeker. He'd saved Jazz, rescued him physically and then restarted his spark, again and again, as he wouldn't do for his own trine. He'd dragged Jazz's body sideways, shielding it from fire even as his own systems crashed, even as his own internals seized.

Prowl knew that Jazz would be safe in Starscream's arms, in his care, throughout their entirely too risky plan. It was the thing he banked on, the only thing he relied on at all after knowing Jazz would do his part and would press himself to success. Starscream would shelter Jazz through that, because Starscream, in his own, echoing, remembered way, loved Jazz-as-Switch, an answering echo to the emotions of his own lost love, vorns and vorns ago.

It turned Prowl's tanks.

It was also the one thing he wouldn't tell Jazz. He couldn't reveal it, not this, not that he'd known and used Starscream's feelings against him, turned his care and odd regard for Jazz into an integral part of their plan. He wasn't sure how Jazz would react, both to Prowl's own actions, and to the knowledge that their arch enemy, the Decepticon 2IC, was harboring shadowy feelings of affection for his self.

"I knew." Prowl said firmly, gazing into Jazz's visor. "I knew you would get out alive." He inhaled, still holding Jazz's gaze. "You told me to trust you to be you, and to do your job. Trust me?"

Jazz stared back for a long moment. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Okay. I trust you." He smiled slowly an astrosecond later, lipplates spreading wide. "I should have added a caveat to that whole 'trust me' speech. Trust me… and keep me safe!"

Prowl smiled softly back at Jazz as his thumb rose to stroke over Jazz's healing lipplate, split from a rough slap of Runamuck's. "You did fabulously," Prowl whispered, leaning forwards once more to place a gentle kiss on the injured lipplate. "It was just as you said; I'd have ordered you into that mission without a second thought before all of this." Prowl tilted his helm to the side. "But I was worried sick about you the entire time."

"It was a good plan, Prowl," Jazz gave Prowl's helm a small shake, hands still interlocked behind his white helm. "No matter how you managed to figure it all out." Jazz leaned forward to kiss Prowl, lipplates gently brushing against the Enforcer's. They lingered, slowly melting against the other's lipplates as they fell back into their still brand new and yet vorns old loving patterns, helms tilting just so, hands falling on neck collums and faceplates, stroking over audial horns and shoulderjoints in their unhurried tender expressions.

They separated slowly, Jazz leaning back in Prowl's lap with his hands still interlocked behind his helm, Prowl's hands sliding downward to rest against Jazz's chestplates. Their gazes lingered over each other's optics and faceplates, warm silence stretching out between them.

"Are you ready?" Jazz finally asked, softly.

Prowl sighed, lipplates pressing together before he spoke. "No." He raised one of his hands to stroke over Jazz's helm, dragging his fingertips around the visor edge before slipping down to graze over Jazz's cheekarch. "I want more time."

Jazz turned his helm to nuzzle his faceplates into Prowl's touch, into his fingers and hand. Prowl brought his other hand up to join the first, cupping Jazz's helm as his thumbs stroked over the dermal plating, drawing small circles beneath his touch. Jazz smiled, slow and contentedly, under the touch, visor flickering slightly. Prowl leaned forwards, rising upwards to meet Jazz's lipplates again with his own, still caressing and holding Jazz's helm and stroking his faceplates within his hands.

Their kiss stretched on, just as unhurried as the last, glossas intertwining and sliding gently against the other, lipplates gently sucking on their partners, vents shared between them as they pushed the rest of the universe, and their dark, unfortunate future, far away from their hold on each other. Jazz began pressing down into Prowl, his chestplates and hipplates inadvertently grinding down into his bondmate as he deepened the kiss, trying to climb further, deeper into Prowl's arms, into his armor.

Prowl gasped, drawing his helm back as Jazz continued his unintentional grinding, the action steadily revving Prowl's systems and heating his internals, the feel of his bondmate's smooth armor and sleek frame within his arms and in his lap already having excited him previously. Jazz stared down at him, momentarily perplexed and dazed at the sudden loss of Prowl's lipplates and glossa, his tender kisses, before the sight of Prowl's revv'd and excited state finally registered within his visor'd optics.

"Should we play the Sunny and Ratchet game again?" Jazz teased, rocking his hipplates back and forth in Prowl's lap as he smirked down at his bondmate. Prowl chuckled, helm lowering in slight embarrassment as Jazz continued to smirk at him. Prowl had been far overworked and heated from the visual images Jazz had steadily teased him with during Ratchet and Sunstreaker's surprisingly continuous romp of interfacing. He wanted Jazz all the time, a low level burn that stayed just below his armor plating. Jazz's light teasing, not entirely intended to excite, had finally drove him over the edge. Jazz had been surprised, pleasantly so, when he joined Prowl under firm and heated direction after politely asking Ratchet and Sunstreaker to tone it down. Prowl was on fire, needing Jazz desperately beneath him.

Prowl had seized Jazz from behind, drawing his arms over his chest and holding them immobile as he began grinding into the Saboteur's backside, whispering hotly into his audial all the things he was going to do to him, all the things Jazz had teased him with. As Jazz had weakened, had begun to lightly moan, Prowl had ordered him to be silent. For as loud as Sunstreaker had been, Jazz had to be silent, silent entirely under Prowl's touch and ministrations, under his glossa. Prowl threatened to stop immediately if Jazz made a sound. Any sound.

Prowl set to work shattering Jazz's control, returning to whispering and growling words and endearments into Jazz's audials, before mouthing and licking the sensitive audial horns of his bonded. Jazz was shaking by that time, mostly held up by Prowls armhold still across his chest. Prowl had laid him out on the bouncer, still holding his wrists back and away, as he continued on his quest to make Jazz break his own rules. He had no intention of stopping.

Jazz had forcibly offlined his vocalizer in the end, air screaming through the offline gears as he voicelessly shouted, lipplates mouthing Prowl's name and gasping, begging out his pleas again and again.

"No," Prowl shook his helm, smiling up at Jazz's smirking faceplates. "I'd much rather hear your voice."

Jazz grinned, denta shining down at Prowl. "Let's go find someplace to be noisy then." Jazz tried to rise, started to back himself off of Prowl's lap, still grinning.

Prowl held him fast, not removing his hands from Jazz's hipplates, freezing the Saboteur in his lap. He revved his engines, power and heat thrumming through his frame and transferring over into Jazz's own.

Jazz froze, staring into Prowl's optics. "Here?" He looked askance at Prowl. "In **Megatron's** throne?"

Prowl slowly smirked, squeezing Jazz's hipplates and dragging his bondmate deeply into his lap, his arms rising to wrap around his back and encircling his frame. "What naughty, naughty Autobots we'll be…."

Jazz stared into Prowl's optics open-mouthplated for an astrosecond before he burst out laughing, helm thrown back as he shook with open humor. Prowl stared upwards at Jazz's laughing, smiling faceplates, basking in the warm life and laugh of his bonded. It was how he had first fallen in love with Jazz, through his laugh, through his smile.

Jazz finally stilled, rocking forward and wrapping his arms around Prowl's shoulderjoints, one hand rising to stroke over Prowl's faceplates as he ground forward, their bodies connected and grinding together from hipplates to chestplates. "Oh Prowl," Jazz chuckled before demanding a hard kiss from his bonded. "Just when I think I know you…" Jazz chuckled once more as he leaned in for another deep, heated kiss.

Prowl returned the kiss possessively, hands stroking up and down Jazz's backplates, one rising to cup the back of his helm as they continued to grind into each other, continued to build up the perfect friction between them. Jazz rocked, bouncing lightly and grinding forward into Prowl's frame as Prowl pulled, pushed downwards, dragging him deeper and deeper on each thrust. Their kiss rose in passion, glossas moving faster over each other's as they gasped into their mouthplates, nipping and biting at lipplates as they resumed their kisses again and again.

Their chestplates separated at the same time, dual passion and excitement physically felt and transferred intimately across their bond. They didn't stop, didn't pause in their frantic kisses, still trying to disappear within the other's armor, trying to physically climb into each other's sparks and lipplates as their hands pawed, petted, grabbing at each other's frames and armor as their glossas still warred between them.

As their sparks surged, tendrils extending and wrapping around each other in familiar, longing expression, they finally slowed, moaning and gasping into each other's mouthplates with their lipplates still pressed together. Jazz shivered, clutching Prowl's helm and shoulderjoints in a tightly circled hug, breathing heavily as his lipplates stayed open-plated on Prowl's own. Prowl's hands stroked low, rising and falling over Jazz's backplating, softly, gently, his optics offline as he moaned Jazz's name.

They stilled, sparks surging together powerfully, their bond screaming with their conjoined love, their passion, their completeness found within each other. They basked in the long history of their union, their lovingly tender friendship blossoming into their unending, cascading love. Jazz finally closed his lipplates over Prowl's own, feeling his kiss both on Prowl's lipplates and through his bond, the tingling sensations of the kiss on Prowl's lipplates transferred to his own sensor net as well. Prowl sighed into the kiss, helm tilting backward as Jazz started to move, to slowly, gently, tenderly rock forward into Prowl's chestplates, the barest of friction crossing their sparks and the edges of their chestplates.

Prowl groaned, hands still stroking Jazz's backplating. He kissed Jazz back, slowly, as he lost himself in the glorious, fantastic feelings of his bondmate. He loved Jazz, loved him for nearly his entire life, loved everything about him. He was entirely incomplete without him. Jazz held, within his spark, that little piece of Jazz that made him, made Prowl, be the mech that he had always wanted to be; to be strong, to be wise. To be caring. He had tasted, briefly, that power Jazz held during their friendship. It was nothing to being his bonded, to joining with and sharing his love with Jazz, for Jazz to bestow upon him the best of Jazz. It was perfection, being with him, and no more so than in the moments when their sparks physically joined, physically merged.

Jazz knew, every time he looked at Prowl, every time he saw the strong curve of his doorwings, every time he caught his knowing optics, every time he felt the essence of his mate over their bond, Jazz knew that every moment of his life, every long moment of Prowl's friendship, the building of their joined history, had led to this. To their union. To their bond. To the perfection they found together. Jazz knew that Prowl had always been a part of him, had always been deep within his spark, over his whole life. He had nurtured that bit, that love he had cherished for Prowl within his soul, for vorns. Sharing it, finally, perfectly, with Prowl had been the realization of his one, perfect dream.

They slowly surged together, sparks joined as one, processors and souls conjoined in harmony as their physical bodies slowly sought and gave pleasure, fingers, lipplates and glossas dancing over armor plating. Their love for each other swirled around themselves, both of their emotions uniting and surging together, a perfect firestorm of ceaseless devotion and long-held tenderness. "I love you," Prowl whispered, the first independent action he had made since their sparks united as one.

Jazz breathed outwards, visor flickering continuously with too much emotion. "I love you too…" he gasped, staring down into Prowl's dim optics. "I want to stay here forever."

"Please do," Prowl whispered again, begging, lipplates tenderly meeting Jazz's as they fell back into the oneness and unity of their bond, sparks still united between them. They surrendered, succumbed beneath the cresting of their emotions, falling headlong into each other's souls again and again. Their overload started within their sparks, a piercing cascade of emotion shattering over their circuits and burning through their processors, through their entire bodies, lancing back to their sparks with a sharp burst of each other's entire essence, prolonging and promulgating their bond even as their sparks physically separated.

Prowl collapsed forward's into Jazz's arms as their chestplates drew together, spark chambers clicking closed silently. He buried his faceplates in Jazz's neck collum, in his chestplates, breathing heavily as he gripped down on his bondmate's frame. He trembled, the power of their joined love, long held separately but finally united together, always overwhelming him entirely. Jazz's arms remained circled around Prowl's shoulderjoints, his chinplate resting on the top of Prowl's helm.

Jazz turned his helm slightly to drop tiny kisses along the top edge of Prowl's chevron as Prowl continued to pant against his neck collum. Jazz offlined his visor in exhaustion, in sheer joy, while the cascading feelings of his bonded continued to roll through him in perfection.

-

"Fuck me…" Whitmore breathed outwards as he gazed through the binoculars over the ridgeline. He was laying on his belly, head and binos barely visible over the ridge, hidden behind a scrubby bush for concealment, gazing downwards into the sloping valley below. 'Bee was at his side, lowered and unseen over the ridgeline, staring hard, cold optics upwards to his face, vents cycling deeply.

They had followed the three village boys through the night, stopping only for a few hours of rest for their benefit. 'Bee had been surprisingly less than happy about the break, wanting to only press forward to find Hound, that instant, to not pause for anything. Whitmore had argued with him, their first, demanding to rest for only a few hours. Their charges couldn't lead them to the right place if they were stumbling in exhaustion, too tired to think straight. Whitmore and Martinez were liable to make a mistake as well, fumbling about from lack of sleep if they pressed onwards much more. 'Bee grudgingly agreed, finally, to keep watch over them all while the humans hunkered down for rest.

'Bee's processor had raged, racing forwards with thoughts of Hound, of the surprise attack, the IED none of them had expected to blow underneath Hound ripping through his vision once more. He could still feel the particulate explode over his hood, the sand and dirt particles scratching across his surface, the tiny, tinkling sounds they had made as they impacted his windshield and fell in cascades against his wipers. Later, when it was all over, when Hound was gone and so were the Seekers, their human accomplices dead, Bee had activated his wipers, tossing the collected dirt and sand from his windshield with one creaking swipe. The sound had echoed, scratching across his audials in one long whisper.

He thought of Mirage, the distantly aristocratic, yet quietly friendly bondmate of Hound's. Their union had been a surprise, a complete and total surprise for all the Autobots back in Iacon, when it had happened. Hound and 'Bee were friends, had been for vorns, the both of them outgoing and friendly with everyone, enjoying the exploration and excitement of new places. Mirage had been cold, distant, regal in his separation, gorgeous in his entirely off limits set of isolation.

It was perfectly unnatural that Hound, of all the 'bots, would connect with him. Hound was the friendliest of them all, the most unassuming, the quickest to laugh at himself. He was the only one who could have drawn the reclusive mech from his isolation, and the only mech that seemed so entirely opposite and unable to get close to Mirage. Despite it all, he had, drawing the Aristocrat out by including him slowly and gently in the fun in the Rec Room, meeting his optics during stories and wild tales of exploration. Mirage's first comment, a dry, witty observation of one of Hound's self-deprecating stories of his own blunder, had frozen the Scout's faceplates in a wide, silly grin.

'Bee knew Mirage through their associations and training on the SpecOp squad of Jazz's, their working relationship growing steadily as Mirage and 'Bee learned to trust each other implicitly. 'Bee had finally broken through Mirage's walls at about the same time Hound had in the Rec Room, the three of them becoming unlikely friends in their own ways. There had always been more between Hound and Mirage though, something 'Bee watched with fondness.

Bonded mechs were not overly common, especially not after the War began. It was too stressful, the unification and joining of a mech's processor and peripherals with another, the merging of systems into one joined pair, operating in two separate frames. It was too stressful should anything happen to one part, to one subsection of the unit. It was near crippling, when one was injured badly, near fatally. Should one subunit die… only the strongest mechs were able to detach from the joined pair, from their bond, from the complete unit they had made together, to become separate again, before they too were dragged down into a drawn out and lingering death as they offlined slowly, searching for their incomplete partner.

Hound and Mirage's quiet, surprising decision to bond had surprised 'Bee. They didn't speak about it, never gave voice to their reasons. Their bond was silent, nothing changing between their relationship, on or off duty in view of the others.

'Bee did not want to be the mech that had to return to Mirage, to return to either tell him Hound was lost, or to face the offline shell of Mirage's own frame. He didn't know if Mirage would separate himself from their bond, if Hound were killed, if he was already dead. The pain and spark-tearing loneliness of such an action often overrode all survival instincts, the desire to reunite with their other half in the Matrix surging in nearly all bonded pairs instantaneously.

He had stayed online the entire time as the humans had slept, processor firing and whirring over and over with their memories of his friends.

"What is it?" 'Bee whispered roughly up to Whitmore, still gripping down on the binos as he continued to peer over the ridgeline.

"I see Hound," Whitmore whispered back. "He's down in the valley."

'Bee's spark surged. "Is he online?" 'Bee's vocalizer hissed as the energon in his lines pounded faster.

Whitmore paused. "I don't know. He's in his Jeep mode…" Whitmore trailed off, shifting slightly on the dirty ground to try and get a better view. "It looks like he's just parked there."

'Bee frowned. He couldn't raise Hound on the comm., but that was entirely due to the dampening shield still in effect around the Decepticon base. The boys had led them deep into the mountains, the darkening feel and silencing grip of the dampening field descending over them as they neared Megatron's lair. They were deep within now, comms offline and useless.

Whitmore backed himself down the ridgeline, sliding backwards on his belly and dirtying his tangled robes as he slid down level with 'Bee. He began drawing shapes in the dust with his finger, blocky metal structures near the base of boulders. "Could this be a power generator? Some sort of power system for the Decepticons?"

'Bee squinted down at the bad line drawing, trying to imagine the real construction over the ridgeline. He nodded slowly. "It could be, yes. It looks like a portable power pack that they could have built. It's… a lot of power though. Where is it?"

Whitmore nodded. "It's on the opposite side of Hound, halfway up the other ridgeline. I don't see any cables or lines connecting it to Hound." Whitmore met 'Bee's optics. "I think we've found their base. This is right within where they thought it would be. These could be powering whatever they've got inside that mountain, as well as the dampening field."

'Bee nodded slowly, inhaling deeply. "We need to get this information back to Prime, and to your Army."

Whitmore nodded before turning to look further down the ridgeline to one of the boys still traveling with them. Martinez was waiting with the other two at the edge of the dampening field, still in communications range with their base HQ and hopefully the rest of their forces, scouting for Megatron's lair amidst the mountains. They'd kept the one older boy, continuing in their quest inwards beneath the field and intending to use him in just this fashion, as a runner back to Martinez to relay information. "Ahmed," he called, sliding further downwards. "I need to you go back to your brothers and deliver this message."

Whitmore pulled a black marker from his concealed pack on his waist, then grabbed the boy's arm. He began to write, the distance they had traveled, the direction, the visual recon of both packages confirmed. Requested immediate assistance and the rejoining of forces. Martinez would read his scrawl and understand, both relaying the information back to their forces and then joining 'Bee and himself.

He finished, then stared into the boy's eyes. The boy looked back, glancing over the black words written on his arm in indelible ink. "Pay? He asked in his fractured English. "Dollars?"

Whitmore sighed and pulled his remaining money from his robes, thumbing through the assembled Rupees, Yuan, and Dollars. He finally shoved it all into the boy's hands. "Go!" he said firmly, pointing back in the direction they had come. The boy smiled, then scampered away, sliding down the rough mountainside with ease and jogging back down the bare creek bed they had followed uphill.

Whitmore clambered back up the incline, grabbing 'Bee's large hand to help guide him upwards to his observation post. He laid back on his belly, grabbing his binos once more. "When Martinez gets here, we'll figure out a plan to get those generators offline, and to get Hound out of there." He slid forwards the last bit, binos back up to his eyes as he peered over the ridgeline and back down into the valley, staring down into Hound's unmoving Jeep mode.

"I don't like this," 'Bee suddenly interjected. "Something doesn't feel right."

-

The spacebridge drive worked fantastically.

Prowl had to hand it to Shockwave. The chief Decepticon scientist was brilliant. There were no flaws, no troubles with the engines. Starscream gave the entire system a thorough check, scowling darkly and muttering the whole time while Thundercracker looked on, but in the end, it worked fantastically.

They were fast coming up on Earth's solar system when the first alarm shouted. Jazz was at the piloting terminal, guiding the freighter through the spacebridge tunnel and steering the craft back towards Earth. They moved slower than in a standard spacebridge jump; the mass of the freighter slowed their speeds from exponential expressions to merely the speed of light itself. Prowl stood behind him, near him, Bluestreak and Starscream hovering near to the back. The rest of the mechs were in the hanger bay, stowed and ready to go.

Bluestreak and Prowl both moved to the console to answer the alarm. "Contact." Prowl's firm voice rang out over the command deck. "We found the Quintessons." Bluestreak inhaled sharply as Starscream stared hard across the deck at Prowl.

"Where?" Jazz asked, not turning his helm.

Prowl punched a few more keys, sensors expanding to give him more data. "They're close," he called back. "They've just passed Jupiter's orbit."

Jazz nodded as he turned the freighter slightly, rolling into the tunnel's curve. "Time to go then. We'll hit Earth in just over a breem." Jazz turned his helm finally, glancing over his shoulderjoint to Bluestreak. "You should get going." He smiled fondly at the young gunner.

Bluestreak nodded back to Jazz before pulling away. He started to head off the command deck, down the sloping decline leading down to the lower levels as Prowl joined him. Starscream followed a moment later, after staring long and hard out both the viewscreen and at the back of Jazz's helm.

"Are you **sure** you two don't want any help up here, Prowl?" Bluestreak began. "I mean, the two of you against an entire warship doesn't seem right, even with everything Ratchet has been working on to help you both, and it's not that I don't trust your abilities, or doubt you guys, or think you **can't** do it, its just that I'd much rather be up here, helping you and Jazz than down there, cause everyone is down there, but it's just you two up here." Bluestreak finally finished, turning bright, determined optics to Prowl's faceplates.

Prowl smiled softly, sadly. It had to be this way. "No, Bluestreak, actually I think you're going to be very much needed down there. We'll be fine up here." Prowl turned at the hanger bay entrance, stopping in the doorway. Bluestreak stopped as well, several feet inside and turned to stare back at Prowl.

Starscream pushed past them both with a cold, ugly glare thrown at Prowl. Prowl followed the red Seeker with his optics as he joined his trine and Fireflight at the front leading end of the small hanger bay, Skywarp's optics never leaving his frame.

"Well then," Bluestreak began again, tilting his helm to the side and smiling lopsidedly, nervously. "I guess I'll see you when it's all over and we're all safe back on Earth…"

Something must have shown in Prowl's optics, in his faceplates. He never could lie to Bluestreak.

"You're… you're not coming back, are you?" Bluestreak's jabber was uncharacteristically halted, a single, scared question only as his wide optics stared into Prowl's.

"No, Blue. We're not." Prowl shook his helm slightly.

Bluestreak's mouthplates pressed into a firm line as the gunner inhaled shakily. Smokescreen's helm popped out from the airlock on the second maneuvering craft. "Blue!" he called. "It's time to go!"

Bluestreak nodded quickly to the Datsun before turning back to Prowl once more. "I… I don't know what to say…" he trailed off.

Prowl smiled warmly and stepped forward, reaching for the younger Datsun and drawing him into his arms in firm hug. Bluestreak's arms rose, wrapping around his backstruts and gripped Prowl in return. "You keep an optic on the twins, alright?" Prowl pulled backwards, white hands gripping down on Bluestreak's upper arms. Bluestreak's shoulder harness was back on, reloaded with munitions stolen from the freighter and rockets primed to launch.

Bluestreak smiled back at Prowl as he stepped away. "I think Ratchet's got that under control."

Prowl laughed as Jazz's voice broke over the freighter's intercom. "Looks like the party started without us down there," he said, his voice echoing out from the still-open airlock of the second maneuvering craft as well. "You all are going to be launching into battle."

"Blue!" Smokescreen shouted again. "Let's go!"

Bluestreak glanced once more to Prowl's optics, too many words of thanks and regret shining within them, before he raced the last distance across the hanger deck and clambered through the airlock door. Prowl saw Smokescreen rise to close it, the heavy airlock rolling shut and sealing off the outside world. Prowl stepped back, backing himself out of the hanger deck and sealing the doors as the alerts sounded for the depressurization.

"Primus, Blue, what were you doing, giving him a kiss goodbye?" Hot Rod grumbled from the front seat, the piloting chair, as Bluestreak slid in next to Smokescreen. Kup sat behind him.

"Jazz wouldn't like that very much," Smokescreen teased, as Kup reached forward and smacked the backside of his helm.

"Both of you young idiots shut your mouthplates," Kup growled. "We've got work to do."

Hot Rod sighed dramatically.

-

The first hint Whitmore, Martinez and 'Bee had that the Army had both received their message and had finally arrived with Prime and the Autobots was the sudden and unholy unleashing of the three artillery batteries upon the opposite ridgeline and the power generators feeding what they strongly believed was the Decepticon base.

The first hint they had that they were right in their suspicions was when the Decepticons came pouring out from the mountainside, appearing from caves, cracks, crevices and hidden, shimmering entrances.

"We've got to go!" 'Bee shouted. "Now!"

The three took off, pushing themselves over the ridgeline and running full speed down the decline, Whitmore and Martinez jumping and stretching to keep up with 'Bee's far greater strides. At the bottom, 'Bee finally transformed, doors opened and waiting for the two humans to clamber inside. 'Bee took off, gunning his engine as fast as his Earth alt mode would allow, pushing it harder and faster as he tore across the valley toward Hound, heedless of shrubs and fauna beneath his tires and the suddenly screaming incoming fire all around him.

'Bee screeched to a halt on the backside of Hound, Whitmore and Martinez jumping from his interior as he transformed to fire back at the Decepticons on the ridgeline. The artillery kept pouring in above them from the Autobot ridgeline, impacting the Decepticon mountainside in thundering whoomps near the power generators.

'Bee heard the telltale sound of rotors overhead, his spark lurching as he glanced upwards. Vortex slowly flew forward, hovering over the advancing forms of the grounded Combaticons, Blast Off in mech mode on the ridgeline to the left of 'Bee. Vortex fired two of his rockets, their contrails arching forwards as the screeching sound of jet engines suddenly swooped in from behind 'Bee, from behind the Autobots.

Four F-18's screamed overhead, two banking right and left away from Vortex's air-to-air missiles as the final two fired forwards, entirely too close to 'Bee, Hound, Whitmore and Martinez. Their missiles impacted, thundering and crashing into the power generators with a huge, burning boom, destroying a large portion of the mountainside around the power packs along with the machinery.

Whitmore and Martinez growled as they ducked underneath Hound's still silent alt mode, earth and debris raining down around them. 'Bee jumped forward, trying to shield the most of Hound that he could with his own frame.

The loss of the power packs suddenly fritzed the dampening field, the enveloping silence replaced with the overwhelmingly dizzying thrum of too many comms and pings. 'Bee accepted the automatic ping to the Autobot battlenet almost as an afterthought just before he heard the tentative ping of Hound, weak and near silent beneath him.

"Hound!" he shouted down at the Jeep. "We're here! Talk to me! What happened?"

Martinez was frowning underneath Hound's form, staring up into his internals with a tight, worried grimace as Whitmore rolled out from underneath. His eyes fell on the mountain peak, slowly and steadily shimmering away as the holographic projector faded offline without its power supply, replaced by the launching platform built into the real ridgeline, Megatron standing gallantly atop it and in front of the ready to launch SS-27 ICBM nuclear warheads. "Fuck me," Whitmore whispered as he gazed upwards.

"We're **all** fucked," Martinez answered, still underneath Hound. "Especially Hound."

-

Starscream sat in his jet mode, engine thrumming as he waited for the hanger doors to open, for the deck to depressurize. Skywarp sat to his right, Thundercracker to his left, Fireflight on Thundercracker's left. Behind them were the two maneuvering craft of the freighter, unbuckled from their deck attachments and ready to fly. Ratchet, Sunstreaker and Blaster were in one; Kup, Hot Rod, Smokescreen and Bluestreak in the other. They all waited, silently.

Finally, the hanger doors cracked open, sliding apart to reveal the too bright whiteness of the Earth's clouds, rushing by them overfast as Jazz plunged through the atmosphere, lowering them all down into the skies. He rotated, spinning the freighter forward as they screamed around the planet's surface, oceans and landmasses passing beneath them before they finally came up on their targeted launch zone. "Now!" Jazz hollered through their still-open commlink.

Starscream gunned his jet engines, afterburners shrieking as he and his trine blasted out of the hanger as one unit, flying in formation high above the Earth's surface. Fireflight followed an astrosecond later, clinging to Thundercracker's wing and flying at his side. The maneuvering craft followed after that, cleared to catapult out of the freighter after the jets had fled their path.

They flew downwards, screaming through the atmosphere and rolling through their descent as Jazz fled, flying higher and streaking the freighter out of Earth's skies. Starscream's sensors scanned the surface beneath him, finally keying into the fierce battle happening just below. He shot the telemetry to Hot Rod and Blaster, each piloting their crafts behind him, then gunned his jet down harder, faster. Thundercracker, Skywarp and Fireflight kept pace with his descent, finally and only leveling off once they broke the upper ceiling above the battle.

Autobots and Decepticons raged beneath them, grappling against one another in chaos and mayhem, as the humans struggled on the edges, attempting to assist the great, hulking machines in their epic struggle against their enemies. Starscream scanned the battlefield quickly, searching for his one target. He grinned, an ugly, terrifying curl of his lipplates within his alt mode before he flew off, away, pinging back to his trine to stay behind, to continue with the fight without him.

The maneuvering craft shot forwards, Thundercracker, Skywarp and Fireflight escorting the vulnerable falling flyers to the surface as they absorbed the incoming fire of the Decepticons. Comms pinged around them, both Autobot and Decepticon battlenets online and active.

"We need to land!" Kup shouted forwards to Hot Rod as their craft bounced again in the turbulent air of the battle.

"Jazz wasn't so focused on the landing!" Hot Rod shot back. "He really grilled the maneuvering functions, but not so much how to land!" Hot Rod bounced at the controls, hands flying over the terminal screen as their craft shook again, Blaster's craft next to them rolling sharply to avoid an anti-aircraft missile before Thundercracker destroyed the incoming round in a burst of laser fire.

"Why the slag are you flying us again?" Kup hollered back up to Hot Rod over Smokescreen and Bluestreak, the both of their optics wide and bright. Hot Rod growled over his shoulderjoint at Kup as they steadily screamed towards the surface.

Both crafts landed roughly on a separate ridgeline, sliding on their underbellies as the landing gear snapped beneath the force of their impact. Hot Rod was momentarily relieved that Blaster's landing had been no better, nor any worse, than his own. Kup was already keying open the airlock, Smokescreen and Bluestreak ready to explode out into the fight with their rifles armed and ready to fire.

Thundercracker, Skywarp and Fireflight continued to circle overhead as all of newly arrived mechs instantly received a ping to join the Autobot battlenet comm frequency, Red Alert's signature on the request. Ratchet growled as he clambered out of Blaster's craft with Sunstreaker's helping hand, the golden twin also scanning the area and ready to fire. "About time," Ratchet grumbled.

Kup raised his rifle and stared down the ridgeline, back to the roar of the main battle happening back behind them. "Let's move!" he shouted, motioning for them all to move forward and join their friends and allies in battle.

Above them, Thundercracker and Skywarp shakily, tentatively pinged their acceptance back to the Autobot battlenet. Their silence was suddenly inundated with the noise of the Autobots, with the chaos of the field echoing over their audials and processors. A second ping followed, this time from Fireflight, beckoning both Seekers into the private subnet of the Aerialbots. Thundercracker accepted first, plunging into the noise and warmth of the brother's chatter, their combined joy and glee and exasperation at their wayward brother flyer finally returned.

Starscream flew high above, alone and separate over the field of battle. He pushed forward, sensors expanding as he took in the data beneath him. Finally he dipped lower, breaking through the cloudbank above Megatron's form, standing tall and proud on the Decepticon ridgeline.

-

Prowl rejoined Jazz on the command deck as Jazz swept the freighter around the dark side of the moon. "Did they see us?" Prowl asked.

Jazz shook his helm. "I kept us on the far side of the Earth. They shouldn't have been able to pick up our signals with the interference." Their freighter was small, much smaller than the Quintesson warship, and could far more easily mask their own signals from the Quintesson sensors behind the noisy Earth. "They launched okay?"

Prowl nodded, unseen behind Jazz but felt over their bond. "Clean launch." He smiled softly at the back of Jazz's helm. "Good piloting."

Jazz smiled tightly as he settled the freighter's landing gear into position. "I'm bringing us down now," he said softly. "Is our own craft ready to launch?"

Prowl nodded once more. There was one more maneuvering craft, one more small flyer in the hanger bay. Prowl had unlocked the flyer from its gear and rolled it into launch position after the rest of the team had left, preparing the pre-flight controls as best as he could without Jazz and readying the craft for their own mission. "We're all set," he replied just as softly.

The freighter settled onto the moon's surface with a soft, final relaxation as it dropped into its landing gear. The silky moon dust collapsed nearly a foot beneath the heavy weight of the freighter as Jazz disengaged the engines, the electric thrum of the freighter finally ceasing around them. He pushed at the controls a little longer, offlining the thrusters, locking the gear and disconnecting the main power core. The freighter hummed as the generators kicked in, the portable power packs taking over the electrical functions.

Jazz turned around as he finished, facing Prowl fully. He inhaled deeply, holding Prowl's gaze behind his visor. "Let's get this over with," he finally said, smiling sadly.

Prowl reached for Jazz's hand, interlacing his white fingers with Jazz's black digits. They stared, for a moment, into each others gazes, hands interlocked in silence as the enormity of their task, of their mission, of what the universe demanded of them once again, this time together, fell on them completely. They had managed to push it off, ignore it beneath the frustrations and excitements of the rest of the mission, of needing the freighter, of fighting with Starscream, of finding the Resistance on Cybertron. Now though, in the stillness and silence before their launch, they could not run, anymore, from their task.

"Thank you," Prowl finally whispered. "Thank you for coming with me." It wasn't enough, not nearly, but there weren't enough words and meanings within either English or Cybertronian to express to Jazz the enormity of Prowl's feelings, his cascading emotions surging within him as he thanked everything he believed in for Jazz's presence at his side and in spark.

"I've **always** known," Jazz said softly. "That I would die next to you." He smiled, truly this time. "This is what I want, Prowl."

Prowl nodded, smiling back at Jazz. "Let's go," he finally said, breaking their handhold and stepping back, though keeping his soft, warm gaze firmly fixed on Jazz.

Jazz nodded as they both began the trek down to the hanger deck, and to the flyer awaiting them. Ratchet had stowed their weapons on board, the modified rockets for Prowl's shoulder harness and the rigged-to-explode canisters they both would be carrying. Their task was simple: destroy. It was the most straightforward mission either of them had ever been on.

-

Skyfire stumbled in the air, shocked into dropping thousands of feet in altitude as his spark lurched. He gasped as he felt the intrusion again, deep in his spark. It was familiar, achingly so, and far too old. ::Starscream?:: he hesitantly whispered.

::…Skyfire…:: The scratching, screechy sound of his former bondmate's vocalizer, his presence, poured into Skyfire's spark once more, as it hadn't been within him for millions of years. The longing, fierce and unexpected, and bursting forth from both of them simultaneously, shocked Skyfire again, his flight now erratic as he tried to climb higher, no longer focused on the fight below him.

::Skyfire, is there **any** hope?:: Starscream asked, his voice pleading, begging for an answer, his emotions surging beneath the bond. ::I can give you everything, **everything**…:: His voice trailed off once more before surging back. ::Is there **any** hope?::

Skyfire's processor swam, his spark surging in pain and betrayal, in longing and need, in all the memories and the too close to the surface past of their tangled, corrupted love. His joy, reuniting with Starscream after his exodus from the ice. His confusion, his anger, his pain when he realized he didn't know the red Seeker at all, not anymore. His hope, back then, that Starscream, somehow, would change back, would revert to the mech he loved, the mech he was bonded to still. The spark-rending pain he'd felt as Starscream had fired on him, cold optics unloving and entirely changed. He'd lain in the ice as he had slowly, agonizingly separated their bond as much as he could, pulling back and away from the Seeker's presence within him.

::Starscream…:: He whispered, longingly, desperately wishing for their time before the war, for the happy memories they once shared together. ::I **used** to have everything…::

::We can have it again:: Starscream whispered over their ancient, shaking bond.

::No:: Skyfire replied, his vision dimming with too much pain as his flight path shook and trembled dangerously. ::We can't. The mech I loved is gone:: Skyfire finished with a whisper.

Starscream trembled across his frame, across his spark as he finally, perfectly crushed, perfectly destroyed the rebellious corner of his spark, the corner that had thrummed with hope and desire throughout the length of his life, both before and after Skyfire had been found and recovered, before and after his defection to the Autobots, before and after the pain and darkness of Pax had taken over his life, shattering his emotions and scattering his control and feelings beneath his feet.

Starscream closed his end of their bond, achingly wrenched open by force of will alone, silently and without another word before he descended, landing gracefully in a crouch before Megatron. Megatron inhaled deeply, his fusion cannon primed and ready to fire as Starscream rose up, red optics burning as he raised his null rays upwards to Megatron's frame.

"Starscream," Megatron's vocalizer rumbled, deep and throaty. "You have returned." He smiled, his lipplates curling upwards in a sneer, terrifying and ugly. "I trust your mission was successful."

Starscream returned Megatron's smile as his null rays dropped, his own lipplates curling upwards equally ugly. "Yes, My Lord. Beyond successful." He stalked forwards slowly, joining Megatron on the raised launching platform as they gazed out together over the battle raging beneath them.

-

"We need some air cover!" Whitmore shouted to 'Bee as he tried to fire back on the laser fire raining down upon him from the ridgeline, the Constructions firing downwards at their attempts to free Hound. Martinez remained beneath the Jeep, fingers trailing over wires and circuitry as he searched for the pins, the sequences, the circuit junctions leading deep inside Hound.

'Bee nodded, firing back upwards at the Constructicons as his left arm hung uselessly at his side, shoulderjoint burned in a laser blast. He pinged out over the battlenet, calling for air cover and support from the Aerialbots, the flyers trying to cover and protect the entirety of their forces in conjunction with the Army. The Army's close range attack choppers were held back, pinned away from the battle with the too-accurate fire and suppression technology of the Decepticons.

"Fireflight!" Silverbolt called out over their private subnet. "Cover 'Bee and Hound!"

Fireflight broke formation with his brothers, rolling under the group and dashing away. "We're going with him!" Air Raid and Skydive suddenly broke off, falling downwards and rolling away together to join their formerly missing brother, the thought and action simultaneously felt and shared among the gestalt team in their fighting formation, in the closeness and connection they all perfectly achieved in the air.

Thundercracker watched the young flyer zip off with his brothers before scooting forwards with Skywarp, filling the gap in the wing formation left by the three flyers. Silverbolt pressed them onwards, diving low for another strafing run in support of the Dinobots, raging against the Seeker trine of Thrust, Dirge and Ramjet. Swoop rose to join the Aerialbots, filling in the last hole as they dove down, rolling together in a V formation around the path of the Seekers.

Swoop broke off amidst the cover and unleashed his fiery cascade with a piercing shriek, engulfing the aft end of Thrust entirely. Thundercracker and Skywarp unloaded, laser rays mercilessly pelting the air around the Seekers as their opposing trine scattered, blasting away in opposite directions. ::That felt really good:: Skywarp chuckled over their bond.

Fireflight flew low and fast near the ground as Skydive and Air Raid fell in behind him, matching his altitude and speed. They flew over 'Bee and Hound, the humans still pinned immobile around the forms of the Autobots before unleashing their fire on the Constructicons behind the ridgeline. The ridgeline erupted in a shower of dirt, of exploding earth as the Constructicons fell backwards. The three flyers screamed over the Decepticon's helms, rocketing upwards and arching around for another pass before circling over 'Bee and Hound's position.

Martinez hopped into the flatbed rear area of Hound's Jeep form. The Jeep was still silent, vocalizer and all motor functions disconnected from his steadily deteriorating processor. 'Bee could barely keep him pinged over the comm line, the Jeep fading in and out of consciousness. Martinez threw back the messy tarp covering the flatbed, already knowing what he would find.

There, strapped and secured to Hound's frame, wires interconnected and joined to Hound's internals, were the five devices they had tracked before Megatron took possession of the SS-27's, the five they had followed through India, through China, through all the places 'Bee had longed to see now suddenly tainted with the evil of Megatron spreading outwards in his consumption and destruction of all that was good.

"Fuck!" Martinez shouted again as he dropped to his knees and began fingering the wires leading to the connection circuits. The timer and firing circuit rested on top, waiting for its signal from the Decepticons to be activated. Around the devices were hard, silvery cubes, covering the surface of Hound's flatbed.

Martinez began chucking the cubes out to clear a space for him to work as Whitmore popped his head upwards, the area now clear with the air cover of Fireflight. His face paled, eyes balking as he saw the nuclear bombs strapped into and around Hound's form. "We have got to get out of here," Martinez hissed to Whitmore. "I need time and space to figure this out."

'Bee struggled upwards, leaning heavily against Hound's frame for support as he stared down into the flatbed. "He can't even online," he said angrily. "What have they done to him?"

Martinez shook his head. "I don't know. But we **have** to move. Now."

'Bee swallowed tightly, pain in his shoulderjoint pounding from the impact of the Decepticon blaster. He nodded, transforming slowly and painfully next to Hound. "Whitmore," he called out from his alt mode as he popped his hood. "Insert these cables into Hound's engine. You'll see where they go."

Hound was too weak, entirely too weak to move, his processor offline and unable to control his body or alt mode. 'Bee was wounded, damaged, but in far better shape. He would have to drive them both out of there, operate Hound as a peripheral of his own self. It was an intimate joining, 'Bee's processor taking control of Hound's systems. Anytime before he would have teased Hound about it; now, he merely grunted as Whitmore connected the cables, surging the little bit of his power he couldn't spare over to Hound, to take control of his drivetrain, his systems, his steering. "Get in," 'Bee croaked.

Whitmore clambered into Hound's frame, hopping into the passenger seat as Martinez crouched down in the flatbed. Whitmore turned in his seat, ready to help Martinez if his tech specialist needed any assistance. Martinez however, didn't even know where to begin. He shook his head and stared wide-eyed into Whitmore's own eyes. "How the hell do I disconnect nuclear weapons from an alien robot?" he said breathlessly.

As 'Bee began to drive off, maneuvering both him and Hound through the valley in the silence of their own sphere, the battle raging around them unnoticed, Fireflight's young voice broke over the battlenet, pinged straight to him. "We'll cover you, 'Bee," Fireflight chirped, Air Raid and Sky Dive still flying in formation above them.

'Bee silently pinged back his thanks, still focusing all his attention on the drive, on maneuvering their frames too closely together and as one unit, while Whitmore and Martinez frantically worked within Hound's flatbed. Hound moaned, softly, as they drove.

'Bee glanced up to see the dark forms of Thundercracker and Skywarp close in overhead.

-

Red Alert's optics widened as he cursed under his breath. Prime inhaled next to him deeply. "It appears you were correct, Red Alert," Prime's deep voice rumbled. "I had hoped you were not." Prime glanced downwards to Red Alert's faceplates. "Don't take that personally."

Red Alert squared his shoulderjoints and grimaced. "I had hoped I was wrong as well, Prime. It seems a petrotiger can never change his stripes, however." Next to Red Alert was Mirage, optics fiercely locked on the battle beneath him, ragging forwards, his attentions split between Hound and 'Bee, the humans surrounding them, and the squad battling across the valley floor below their ridgeline.

Prime nodded once back to Red Alert before starting forwards. "Ping out your revised battle plan with the new targets and remove the Seekers from the battlenet."

Red Alert smirked as he followed. "Already done, Sir."

-

Thundercracker shuddered, shaking in his frame as he spied Starscream dropping down in front of Megatron, then joining the Decepticon Leader at his side. Skywarp next to him started, breaking formation in his shock and dropping altitude before regaining his flight path beneath Thundercracker. "What is he doing?" Thundercracker shouted.

Silverbolt shifted suddenly, rearing back and rolling to face the two Seekers next to the last member of his gestalt team. Thundercracker and Skywarp both jolted at the sudden loss of the Autobot battlenet, the background pings and comms chatter having seamlessly integrated into their processors during their flights with the Aerialbots.

"Destroy them!" Slingshot shouted, charging his laser rays and aiming at Skywarp

"We didn't know!" Thundercracker shouted, flying low in front of Skywarp. "I don't know what he's doing!" Thundercracker shook, too many possibilities, all too ugly to comprehend, dancing across his processor and spark.

"I don't believe you! You're his trine!" Slingshot shrieked again, not understanding at all the complexities of hatred and mistrust spread around the Seeker trine. His brothers were his family, his best friends, his soul mates; there wasn't a thing they couldn't do together, not a thing they kept from each other.

Skywarp pinged a frantic request to Soundwave to join the Decepticon battlenet, calling for aid as the Aerialbots circled their two forms, penning them in. Thundercracker jolted again as the Decepticon battlenet broke over his processor, Vortex's calm and darkly laughing vocalizer quietly instructing them to not move.

Thundercracker's vocalizer froze as he watched the helicopter advance on the Aerialbot leader, on Silverbolt, from behind, watched helplessly and frozen as the helo unloaded another rocket barrage on the Concorde. Silverbolt screamed, breaking his flight with Slingshot to evade the fire, racing down and away from the helo before zipping back upwards.

Thundercracker and Skywarp fled for the Decepticon lines.

-

Megatron smiled over the battle unfolding below him, Starscream patiently at his side once more. "It is good to have you back, Starscream." Megatron's helm turned slightly, optics flashing crimson at his second in command.

Starscream sneered back at his Leader. "I'm surprised you managed to complete any of this without me here!" he snapped as he stepped closer, moving intimately close to Megatron.

Megatron chuckled darkly. "It's good to see the Autobots haven't changed you, Starscream." He paused, optics focusing on his fighters below once more. "Your idiot trine posed no problems?"

Starscream shook his helm slowly, sneer stretching wider. "Thundercracker gave a supremely excellent, albeit unknowing, performance."

Megatron's optic ridge rose, turning his helm slightly to stare at Starscream. "Will we have to watch him for more Autobot weakness?" Starscream smirked and nodded, once.

Megatron turned back to observing the battle with a small murmur. Their plan had been born so long ago, their long-term quest for iridium power conversions to energon switching tacks to an offensive strike against the Autobots. Soundwave and Starscream, impossibly, had formed their plan together, Starscream bringing the scientific understanding and Soundwave the human political systems knowledge. Together they schemed, drafting the fundamentals of their plan together, their way to exterminate both the Autobots, the human allies, and convert the organic world into their limitless source of energon. It was complicated, convoluted, and shared only among the three senior leaders. Starscream's trine had no idea of the plan, under Starscream's own insistence. He had performed, fantastically so, in Megatron's opinion, to convince his trine of the falling out of Megatron and himself, and the banishment of his self from their base.

"We've seeded the villages and battlefield with iridium cubes," Megatron called over his shoulderjoint, not turning his helm to Starscream.

Starscream bristled. "I thought we agreed **not** to pursue that course of action!" he scowled. "They are too unstable!"

Megatron smirked beneath Starscream's familiar screech. "Hook and Scrapper were able to develop a means to reduce that instability."

"Hook?" Starscream sneered. "Scrapper?" He sighed exasperatedly. "Those two can't find their way out of a cave, much less engineer highly technological devices!"

"You will never be able to lead effectively until you understand the nuances and subtleties of your mechs, Starscream." Megatron turned back to his second in command, crimson optics flashing darkly in warning. "Hook is competent. Besides," he smirked. "You were off playing 'Autobot' and not available for my use."

Starscream sneered back at Megatron but remained silent beneath Megatron's heavy gaze.

"Speaking of things we agreed on," Megatron began again. "We didn't find any iridium parts added to the Autobot we captured." Megatron gestured downwards toward Hound, still locked in Jeep mode with Bumblebee and the two humans scattered around him, firing upwards at the Constructicons on the ridgeline.

"I was only able to insert them into the Autobot officers," Starscream effortlessly lied, the words rolling off his lipplates smoothly. Megatron stared at him, hard, for a long moment.

It was the second part of their plan, Starscream's dramatic flight and insertion into the Autobots. He was to convince them, through his intellectual mastery and scientific profundity, combined with his limitless talent for bullshit and fantasy, of the necessity of an addition of iridium parts to their frames, necessary for their upcoming confrontation with Megatron. Their nuclear weapons, the real reason they wanted the Autobots seeded with the iridium parts, would remain hidden. The Autobots would become heavy carriers of gamma rays after the explosions, dense and brimming with potential energy. It was poetic, and entirely Starscream's thought process, to use the corpses of the Autobots as a conversion to energon for their Decepticon future on Cybertron.

Hound and Bumblebee's scouting mission in the mountains, following the SS-27's, had been worrying. Megatron had smiled to himself in the dark aloneness of the mountain as they set Hound out as bait in the valley, primed and loaded with the iridium cubes and nuclear weapons. He must have been spending too much time with Starscream. Or pining after Starscream.

Megatron murmured once more. "No matter," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "They will all perish shortly." Megatron glanced behind Starscream to the SS-27's on the launch pad. He grinned, icily, coldly, then activated the rising launcher. The missiles rose, elevating to their upright position and preparing to fire as the lengthy countdown sequence began.

Megatron watched the three Aerialbots scream forwards, racing for the Constructicons on the ridgeline to Megatron's right. He squinted, idly raising his fusion cannon and readying it to fire at the lead flyer, at Fireflight's darkly painted form.

"Wait, my Lord," Starscream purred behind Megatron. "I have something for you." Starscream reached into his subspace.

-

Jazz ducked back around the bulkhead in the corridor intersection on the Quintesson battleship, laser fire burning beside him with Prowl at his side.

They had maneuvered the freighter's tiny away craft into the space of the Quintessons, arching around and above the firing rays of the battleship. Their attack craft was almost too small for the Quintessons to lock onto, to attack with impunity. Jazz wished it was smaller, wished it could have slipped beneath their sensors. Instead, he'd had to evade and race around and between the firing shots, the aggressive and raging Quintesson attack from their warship against the invading attackers. They didn't know who was attacking them suddenly, the brief bursts of firepower suddenly erupting against the warship as Jazz pressed forwards.

Prowl had been leaning over Jazz's seat at the controls, one hand on the chair and the other on the terminal next to Jazz. He'd swallowed, deeply, before whispering to Jazz, entirely too familiarly. "Crash into them. Get us onboard."

Jazz had piloted them into the clawing opening of the battleship, into the sensitive extensions of the hanger pods for the Quintesson away craft. There were two missiles loaded into their own flyer, two of Ratchet's special missiles. He'd launched them both, the two silently arching through space before exploding against the Quintesson's bulkhead in a gaseous, metal-melting shriek. The hull of the warship began to disintegrate around the impact zone, only a latticework of support beams exposed beneath, a different metal resistant to the destructive effects of Ratchet's bio-weapons against the metal constructions. The disintegration stopped, halted at a junction around the four bulkhead panels, different metals again stopping the expansion of their weapons.

It was enough for Jazz to plunge through, to punch the small flyer through the weak and exposed latticework of the warship and into the hanger deck.

The Quintessons reacted exactly as they both remembered.

The Quintessons fled, escaping out of the hanger pod and back down the corridors of their warship, firing backwards in their fleeing escape. Prowl and Jazz had exploded from the away craft, weapons charged and ready to fire, both the bio-weapons and their laser rifles ready to go. The Quintessons continued to flee, Jazz and Prowl racing after the innately cowardly and disgustingly gutless aliens, shifting their way down the corridors in retreat to attack the two interlopers in am ever shifting, covering their own existence change of tactics.

Being on the ship was terrible for Jazz, the memories of the Quintessons and the tragedies of the occupation of their home world so many millions of years ago surging forth in his spark and processor. He swallowed hard, pushing the raging and coursing emotions back within him once more, Prowl's strength at his side and within his spark.

The two advanced through the corridors, working around the booby traps and shifting, changing attacks of the Quintessons. They were merciless, aggressive and demanding at a distance, when in control and superior. To faceplates, they were as backstrut-less as their organic forms, avoiding all confrontations in battle in their natural forms.

Ratchet's bio-weapons helped considerably. Prowl fired one of his rockets right away, after the fleeing mass of Quintessons firing backwards at Prowl and Jazz. They screamed on impact, collapsing to the deck and shaking in pain and agony as the poisons overwhelmed them entirely, strangling their organic systems and choking their respirations. Prowl and Jazz moved forward.

"Here," Jazz said, ducking to the side as they pushed back and away beneath the laser fire, backing into to a side terminal junction within the corridor. Prowl stepped forward, shielding Jazz from the Quintessons suddenly standing firm laser fire as Jazz ducked down to the terminal panel beneath the display. The language was unfamiliar, too far changed and removed from the past, from the language he had once known. Still, all computers were the same, they all had the same components. Mathematics, the universal language, operated throughout all computer mainframes, across all the galaxy.

Jazz clicked over the terminal housing, withdrawing his cable and searching for an access junction to hack into. He still didn't expect this to be easy.

-

Megatron paused, turning to Starscream at the tone in his second in command's vocalizer.

"Your frustrations with your cannon?" Starscream reminded Megatron, stepping forward. "I figured out a way to solve the power recharge delay for you, My Lord." He withdrew a long cable from his subspace, coiled around a hard, silvery circuit.

"And when did you do this?" Megatron hissed, surprised.

"I had some time on my hands while I 'played Autobot,' My Lord," Starscream purred again, stepping forward and reaching out with his hands, still holding the coiled cable.

"And you thought of me?" Megatron's vocalizer rumbled low, optics heated as he stared down into Starscream's darkly illuminated ruby pair. Starscream smirked wickedly upwards into his faceplates, helm tilted coyly.

Still, Megatron grasped Starscream's blue hand over-tightly, squeezing the Seeker until he gasped in pain as he reached for Megatron's arm, for the connection between the fusion cannon and his gunmetal grey armor, searching for the circuitry access he had built himself, so many vorns ago. Megatron sighed finally, relaxing his crushing grip on his second in command's hand. "I must admit, Starscream," Megatron breathed as the Seeker's blue hands flicked over his arm circuits. "I missed your prancing and complaining." His optics flashed down hotly to Starscream, still working the cable into his arm, sliding it under the armor plating and snaking it up the insides of his internals gently. "Slightly," he finished.

Starscream smirked upwards once more, saucily as his optics flashed brilliantly. He pushed the cable higher still, connecting the hard silvery metal nub to the energon line in the Decepticon leader's neck collum, heading straight downward and feeding his spark chamber. "This will pull the initial power feed for your cannon recharge from the power around your spark chamber. Your regular recharge functions will take over after several astroseconds." Starscream rose, meeting Megatron's optics firmly. "Your efficiency will increase by at least 3 astroseconds."

Megatron flexed his arm, rotating his shoulderjoint as he looked over the circuit connection. He gazed into Starscream's optics, then let his own optics linger downward over the Seeker's attractive frame. "You are always fixated on efficiency, Starscream." His vocalizer rumbled again. "Your upgrades please me."

"That is all I desire, My Lord," Starscream hissed as he stepped aside, Megatron's optics already fixing over his helm once more, back on the hovering and circling forms of Fireflight, Air Raid and Skydive. Megatron raised his fusion cannon, and charged to fire.

Starscream stepped backwards, behind Megatron as his Leader pitched forwards, gasping. His fusion cannon hummed, thrumming on his arm as Megatron's other black hand rose, pressing into his chestplates as he roared again, vocalizer hissing as he felt the crushing pain radiate out from his chest.

"Are you in pain?" Starscream hissed from behind Megatron, stepping slowly as he began to circle his failing, falling Leader. "Does it **hurt?**"

Megatron whirled, vents heaving in great gasping cycles, optics a deep ruby, near black with rage. He roared, black fingers scratching at his chestplates as he gasped again in pain, in agony. His fusion cannon continued to thrum on his arm.

Starscream's lipplates curled wide, snarling in a hideous smile downwards at the crumbling form of his Leader. "**Feel** all that rage… the pain… the agony," Starscream continued stepping around the falling Leader slowly as Megatron hissed. "Know that **I** have done this to you!" Starscream hollered.

Megatron lunged forward, black hands finally ceasing their claw at his own agonizing, burning chestplates to grab at Starscream. He gripping down on the Seeker's cockpit, golden glass creaking within his grip as he pulled himself upwards, optics burning and vocalizer hissing in unbridled rage, rage at his second in command, rage at himself, rage at the entire universe.

Starscream stood proudly, Megatron clawing, climbing his way up his frame. Megatron's black hand squeezed down around his throat, already too weak to firmly grip down on his fuel lines, on his O2 lines, as he had so many times before. Starscream smirked as Megatron raised his shaking arm, fusion cannon still thrumming with potential energy, pointing the firing end directly under Starscream's chinplate. Starscream's helm bobbed upwards before falling back down to rest against the rim of the black cannon barrel.

"I will destroy you," Megatron hissed into Starscream's faceplates. "You have betrayed me for the **last time**… And to the Autobots!" Megatron roared, the last of his hateful energy erupting through his primal scream of rage into Starscream's faceplates.

"Do it!" Starscream hissed, shouting back into Megatron's faceplates, so familiar, so hated within his spark. "Shoot! Shoot me! Now!" His blue hands shot out, gripping the barrel of Megatron's fusion cannon and holding it in place, holding it beneath his chinplate fiercely as he heard the telltale whine of purple energy as it prepared to discharge. He smiled as Megatron fired.

Megatron roared in agony, in pure, blinding rage as the cannon's power surged backwards, exploding within his chest and across his spark. He shuddered, collapsing backwards onto his knees in front of Starscream, vents off cycle and slowing as the power surged outwards from his spark, overloading his systems as his spark exploded, bursting with too much irradiated energy, too much deadly force collapsing his self from within.

"Not the Autobots!" Starscream hissed disgustedly as he shoved the last of Megatron's grip from his frame. "For me!" he shouted, grasping the dieing Leader's chinplate roughly within his blue palm, a mockery of Megatron's own actions, so many times, against himself. "Look at you," he hissed again. "You are beyond **weak**…"

Starscream shoved Megatron backwards, the Leader unable to support himself upright anymore. He fell backwards, backstruts awkwardly folding underneath his bent legs, gasping and shuddering still as the pain and raging agony still surged within him. "How **weak** and **stupid** you are, Megatron," Starscream continued, optics narrowing to slits as he stared down at the hated form of his Leader. How he had longed for this, to escape from the clutch of Megatron, to seize his rightful place in the Decepticon army. "This whole plan, from the very beginning, was all for **you**." Starscream sneered. The entire plan, the very formation of targeting fusion reactions as a means to collect energon and destroy their enemies had swirled around Megatron's own fusion canon, Starscream's lust for power still burning through him uncontrollably.

Starscream's entire plan had shifted, turned on his helm violently when the emergence of Pax and Switch's energies had erupted across their iridium mining. Megatron hadn't entirely listened, not understanding the severity of their roadblock or the looming threat of the Quintessons against both Earth and Cybertron. Starscream hadn't cared for Earth, but knew that the planet could be utilized as a power source, an energon source, much more easily if it were indeed still in existence rather than destroyed by the Quintessons on their quest for Cybertron's destruction once more.

Megatron saw a grand opportunity, a perfect opening for the Autobots to welcome Starscream in his false defection. Then Starscream had lost the Pax energies, his nearly catastrophic battle with Prowl truly enraging Megatron for the deviation from their joined plan. Starscream had felt the rough treatment in his beating, in the public shaming of Megatron's assault just before his false banishment, feeling the true disappointment and anger radiating out from the very different forceful hits than he was used to receiving from Megatron.

Starscream hadn't known how to deal with the Switch energies, still housed within the iridium as he joined Prowl and the Ark crew. He needed more iridium, not to implant within the Autobot officers, but for Megatron. For Megatron's own implantation. His cable, with the hard silvery circuit fix, was formed from the iridium he had swiped when Jazz had perfectly fixed his one glaring problem, internalizing the Switch energies in his ridiculous devotion to Prowl.

Starscream had not expected the surging echoes in his spark to cascade through him when Jazz had united with Switch, beneath the echoes of Pax, and his own intertwined, former love. It had to be Skyfire, of course, who had come to recover them that night cycle, Jazz seizing under the effects of the Switch energies and Starscream pushing himself into the corner of Skyfire's hold, desperately **wanting**, again, what he could not have. Not at all.

The trip to Cybertron had fulfilled the other ever-shifting parts of his plan. The Resistance mechs perfectly timed and Primusly sent destruction of the comms tether, an action he would have suggested himself, blinded Megatron to Shockwave and the actions Starscream took with abandon with Prowl, with the rest of the team, and his utter destruction of the compound. The death of Blitzwing, his hated enemy within the Decepticon Officer corps, as well as the destruction of Shockwave's political and military base of operations in Kaon paving the way for Starscream's own victorious, undisputed return to Cybertron as the supreme Leader of the Decepticons.

And of course, the blueprints he had needed within his lab, the old blueprints for the fusion canon he had made himself, for Megatron, so many vorns ago, when things had been so very, very different. The cable stretched now within Megatron, drawing the fusion chain reaction from the cannon directly back into his spark, into the iridium circuit that burst the devastating energies downward, melting Megatron's insides in a blinding rage of agony.

Megatron tried to ping a request for help, a call for aid to Soundwave, to any mech, any of his Decepticons as he realized he could no longer breath, could no longer force the vents into his lines, no longer grab the oxygen he needed to survive, to keep his engine firing within him. He was fading, fast, as he stared upwards into Starscream's hatefully sneering faceplates.

Starscream kicked outwards at Megatron's fallen form, foot impacting the side of his Leader with a harsh clang. "No one will come to your aid!" Starscream shrieked. "They know you've fallen! **I** am the strongest mech here to lead!" His optics burned, raging downward into Megatron's finally dieing faceplates.

"We were…" Megatron began, gasping at the lack of air in his lines as he struggled to speak. "We were… beyond this…" Megatron's mouthplates gaped wide, still struggling for oxygen for his seizing engine, no longer firing at all. His spark burned, melting his insides with too much energy, his spark chamber collapsing into the core of his spark, lancing a streak of sharp, unbearable pain through his entire soul.

"Never," Starscream hissed dangerously again. "I will **never** forgive you for what you've done to Cybertron!" Megatron was supposed to be their leader, to sweep away the Autobot weakness and transform Cybertron into the vast and glorious planet of the strong, of the powerful. Instead, their war had waged ever onward, Megatron not succeeding in his efforts, in his battles against the Autobots, instead bleeding their planet to near offline status, and forcing their exile among the universe. "I will **never** forgive you for what you've done to **me.**" Starscream had been so different, so entirely different, before joining the Decepticons, a different life lain out before him. It had all turned out so wrong.

"You will die on this organic world," Starscream began, straightening upwards and standing tall, lording over the fallen and near offline form of Megatron. Megatron didn't gasp any more, didn't move save for his flickering, hateful, crimson optics, still locked on Starscream's frame. "Because of **me.**" Starscream smiled down at Megatron wickedly as the dieing former leader of the Decepticon's shuddered weakly one last time, finally fading beneath the agony and his dieing spark, his optics slowly dimming to nothing at Starscream's feet. "I will see you in the Pit," Starscream whispered, the last words Megatron heard before his consciousness slipped away.

Starscream gazed out over the battlefield in victory, gasping as his spark surged, finally, under the fantastic, glorious sensation of his perfect success. It was exactly what he had thought it would be, exactly as he had tasted, within his dreams and fantasies. He savored it, held it within his hands deliciously, for a moment.

Starscream turned to the ICBM's behind him, still priming for launch and counting down to their destruction. He smiled, inhaling in satisfaction before turning back to the battle once more. "Decepticons!" he roared, shouting over the battlenet in pride and satisfaction. "**I** am your new Leader! Megatron has **fallen**!" He paused, feeling the thrum of energy, the surge of acceptance and pings back to Starscream, the Decepticon's acknowledging his superiority as he bested Megatron, finally wrenching the power and strength from their former Leader. "Skywarp! Thundercracker!" he shouted over the Decepticon battlenet once more. "Destroy that idiot Fireflight and his brothers! I want that Autobot Jeep to explode! Now!"

Starscream whirled in shock and surprise as Skyfire landed behind him with a sudden crash, standing tall on the launching platform next to the ICBM missiles.

-

Prowl pushed the fourth of Ratchet's canisters into the ruptured O2 lines of the Quintesson battleship, the gaseous poisons rising and spreading in rolling waves throughout the warship's vents and oxygen delivery systems. Jazz stood behind him in the damaged and burned out medbay, the Quintessons raging behind the blockaded doorways, finally overcoming their anxiety and cowardice to attempt to crush the invading Cybertronians. They finally realized that they were as deadly serious as they had been before. Just as serious as when they had overthrown the outpost destroying and occupying their world, millions of years ago.

Jazz wavered on his feet, still unsteady after the effects of his hack into the Quintesson's systems. They utilized bio-organic circuitry, organic neural networks within the mainframe threading throughout the pathways and conduits of the warship. Their weapons had already begun to have an effect on the mainframe and core, gases and poisons seeping through the conduits and bulkheads to sit in and around the circuits of the warship, even as they started sparking in pain beneath the coursing effects cascading through their organic integrated components. Jazz had gotten lost in the pain, in the cresting sensor ghosts of the circuitry as he searched the outer periphery for the blueprints, the technical specifications of the warship.

Prowl had finally broken from his cover of their position, firing his last rocket down the hallway to buy them both time as he dove across his bond for Jazz, falling down next to the Saboteur to search his faceplates, grip him tightly and try to shake him back into his frame, tried to pull him back with physical sensations tethering his processor to his body.

Jazz had followed Prowl's energies and his call over their bond, pitching forward into his arms as he finally escaped the pain within the warship's circuits. As soon as he was out, as soon as he was free, the cascading alarms had shrieked anew; no longer were they mere interlopers, invaders on the Quintesson's warship. Now they were known; now the crew knew they were Cybertronian.

Their problems had exploded from there.

The Quintessons found within them, within their cowardly ways, a surge of protectiveness, knowing already that the Cybertronians fought to the end, to the death of themselves and their quarry. They raged in response, trying to use the warship's internal systems and structures to ward of the attackers. Blast doors sealed, force shields onlined, deck plating demagnetized around them. They had finally fought their way through the obstacles, rushing forwards to the medical bay and the environmental controls unit that maintained the organic living environment within the warship. The Quintessons had also finally set up a barricade, fighting back from behind in laser blasts and rocket attacks against Jazz and Prowl's advance.

The confusion and mayhem worked to Jazz and Prowl's advantage. This was Jazz's forte, his specialty in wreaking havoc upon the systems of his enemies. He fired around Prowl, supporting his bondmate's deadly accuracy and targeting skill with his own destruction-causing blasts. Jazz aimed for the bulkheads, for the ceiling plates. He aimed for the most destruction surrounding the Quintessons, surrounding their attackers. The confusion, the mayhem, distracted them, obliterated any visuals they might have been able to catch, unable to finally confirm the exact number of invaders within their warship. The Quintessons thought for sure they were fighting a full invasion, a well-armed strike team.

Jazz and Prowl both prayed their deadly accuracy and destructive distraction kept the Quintessons minds and eyes off target, off of them entirely.

They had fought their way through the final corridor, advancing slowly before ducking sideways in to the medical bay and barricading themselves within. The Quintessons were unprepared for their dive sideways, halting their fire in surprise before surging forward, trying to beat into their own medical unit.

The medical bay had been empty, much to Prowl's relief. As much as he hated, bitterly, the Quintessons, his rage and hatred roiling within him from Pax, he still had no desire to fire on an unarmed and injured patient, no matter their species. He had no desire to harm a medic either. Prowl had made short work of the O2 lines, puncturing into their distribution flow and pouring their poison gases within as Jazz held their ground.

They knew when the gases began to distribute, circulating around the corridors and rooms of the battleship. Ratchet's highly purified and compressed gases were perfectly set to fill the air of the ship to the correct concentration, burning through the organic cells in a cascade of death and destruction. The choking gasps, starting just beyond the doorframe, mixed with the raging cries of pain, quickly told them both their plan had worked. Perfectly.

Until the consoles began to explode around them in a firestorm of detonations, rending the medical bay and the entire ship into a burning, screaming, out of control husk, rapidly spinning downwards and raging towards Earth's orbital plane.

-

Ratchet plunged his hands deep into the circuits of Swoop, the petrodactyl finally brought down from his fire-breathing heights by Vortex and the Combaticons in a plunging crash. Grimlock and the rest of the Dinobots surged forward, sparking from their own wounds but not enough to slow them down, to stop their relentless pursuit of the Decepticons.

Sunstreaker knelt forward of Ratchet, laser rifle raised high and ready to fire, scanning the battlefield around them. Sunstreaker had remained glued to Ratchet's side, following and shielding the medic from Decepticon fire or attack while he raced among the Autobots, patching wounds and lines and repairing battle injuries. It was the first time Ratchet had worked entirely without worry, without the ever-present looming danger and terror of a Decepticon strike, or an enemy targeting him. With Sunstreaker there, over him, shielding him, he focused entirely and completely on the patients in front of him, trusting Sunstreaker entirely with his safety. With his life, and with the life of his patients.

They had scampered across the ridgeline following Kup and Hot Rod after their graceless crash landing, plunging headlong into the battle just as Starscream landed at Megatron's side. Ratchet had sighed upwards at the sight, unfortunately proven right to himself within his spark. Sunstreaker had gritted his denta, jaw cables clenching and unclenching with his own complicated emotions for the Seeker emerging. Kup and Hot Rod had cursed, both expecting nothing less from the Decepticon 2IC and shooting knowing looks across to Ratchet.

Ratchet was glad, momentarily, that Prowl and Jazz weren't there. He didn't know how they would react to the betrayal, Starscream having worked with both of them the most, and nearly exclusively, out of them all.

Bluestreak had plunged forward and onward, leading Smokescreen, Blaster, Kup and Hot Rod into battle and over to Sideswipe as he rejoined his squad leader in the field. Sideswipe had been overjoyed to see the young gunner, sparing a quick glance backwards to confirm with his optics what he already knew with his spark; Sunstreaker was back as well, and sticking firmly to his lover, to Ratchet. Sideswipe had spared an astrosecond to smile at his brother, unseen across the chaotic battlefield.

Kup led his mechs together with Sideswipe as they battled behind the Dinobots against the Combaticons. The Sunticons were raging between the Aerialbots and the squad of fighters, the Constructions backing up both the Combaticons and the Sunticons simultaneously. The Protectobots were fighting side by side with the human Army personnel, reveling in the experience of fighting together, in sharing the battlefield with the humans they were sworn to protect.

"Wheeljack…" Bumblebee's tired, strained vocalizer pinged through the battlenet, static laden and distant sounding, as if the mech were weak and out of energon, nearly offline. "Hound needs medical help, quickly."

"Where are you?" Ratchet pinged back, overriding Wheeljack's own response as his hand clamped and sealed Swoop's lines while the Dinobot cawed beneath him.

"Moving off the battlefield, near the edge of the valley…" 'Bee's vocalizer faded away. "Please hurry," he whispered, before fading out amidst static.

Ratchet cursed as he sealed the last ruptured line within Swoop. The petrodactyl would live, and the self-repairs would take care of the rest in due course. "Be careful!" he admonished the Dinobot as Swoop flew off, taking to the skies once more to rejoin his brothers and entirely ignoring Ratchet's words of caution. "We've got to move, Sunny," Ratchet growled. "'Bee needs us on the far side."

Sunstreaker nodded and moved in front of the medic as Ratchet re-gathered his tools and equipment, scooping it all inside his subspace and his action kit as they prepared to move out. Sunstreaker squinted across the battlefield, searching for 'Bee and Hound in their flight. Instead, he spotted the erratically flying forms of Fireflight, Air Raid and Skydive, the three Aerialbots attempting to fly slow and cover the escape of the ground vehicles below, while Skywarp and Thundercracker dogged after them.

Skywarp fired three shots at the Aerialbots in front of his nosecone, two passing just under and the last grazing Skydive's wing edge. The Aerialbot hissed in pain and rocked slightly, though refused to break his formation with his brothers. They flew together as one, evasive patterns forming and breaking in sequence over their bond, their actions united fluidly and in unison.

Thundercracker's shudders had enveloped his entire frame, shaking his self to the struts of his wings and the bolts of his afterburners. His optics swam, dizzy and unfocused, his sensors near blind. His spark surged, raging and in agony, tearing and destroying itself again and again. He saw, each time the pain striking anew, Starscream settle in front of Megatron and smile, calmly denouncing everything they had just been prepared to give their lives for, their team, their entire mission to Cybertron and shaky alliance with the Autobots.

Skywarp flew at his side seemingly unaffected, firing forwards at the Aerialbots. Thundercracker had yet to fire a shot.

"TC!" Skywarp shouted. "Fire!"

"He lied to us…" Thundercracker hissed, still shaking as he pressed forwards, his optics zeroing in on Fireflight's sparkling painted golden bursts on his wings, the only image he could clearly see, at all. It reminded him too much, too painfully, of a spark.

"He **always** lies to us!" Skywarp shouted back. "This is no different!"

"He **used** us!" Thundercracker bellowed, rolling and nearly dropping his wing with Skywarp as the emotion surged, pounding into him in a too-loud, reverberating boom, a tiny, fracturing sonic blast cascading backwards off of him.

"He **always** uses us!" Skywarp shouted back to his trinemate, annoyed now. "This isn't any different, TC!"

"It is!" Thundercracker shouted again, his shudders now reaching his processor. "It is…" he continued, feeling his cracked and slipping control drop out further. "He used **us**, 'Warp. He used **who** we are and **what** we are." He inhaled, vents cycling overfast and out of control, unable to regain his equilibrium, unable to calm his raging, surging spark. "He **used** our **bond**!"

Skywarp was silent as he pounded the Aerialbots in front of him again, merciless with his laser fire against their forms.

Fireflight's hurt and confused voice broke over Thundercracker's comm suddenly. "Thundercracker," the young voice cried out, plaintively. "What are you doing?"

Thundercracker's gears seized, his throat collum tightening as his processor spun again, the young and tiny voice of the Aerialbot, a mech he had almost, nearly, considered a friend, certainly a partner in the air, a comrade, crashing across his spark with too much pain.

"Don't **do** this!" Fireflight cried back to him, still surging ahead of Thundercracker's form.

It was too much, suddenly, to Thundercracker, far, far too much. Too much pain, too much anger. Too much longing and desire wrapped in bitterness and defeat. Too much hiding and sadness. Too much delusions and broken promises. He saw, before his optics, swimming interspersed with the images of Starscream, and of his lies as he rose to face Megatron, their trine, the happiness of each them as they had bonded, so many vorns ago. The happy, plucky faceplates of Skywarp, ever ready for a joke or a laugh. The haughty, arrogant, beautiful faceplates of Starscream, smug and confident and Primusly sexy. He loved them both, so much, back then.

Thundercracker screamed, a primal, surging, powerful scream of rage as his sonic boom erupted suddenly, his laser cannons blasting open in a full spread blast aimed directly at Fireflight. His shots went wide, arching above and below the Aerialbot's wings but stunning their formation, scattering the brothers and shocking the young flyer he had spent so much time with. He remembered, vividly, the feel of Fireflight's young hands on his wings, on his shoulderjoints, helping him with his damaged heel thruster. Recharging in his arms, leaning against his side.

Fireflight screamed and cut the comm., rolling over and backwards as he separated from his brothers. Skydive and Air Raid moved to join him, but Fireflight must have signaled them back, signaled them away. Fireflight punched forwards, racing towards Thundercracker head on.

::I love you, Skywarp:: Thundercracker poured every long-held and deeply felt emotion of overwhelming, protective, surging love into his simple words, never before spoken aloud, to his trinemate. ::I love you. I'm sorry I never told you before this.::

::Shut up, TC!:: Skywarp screamed back, his panic evident across their bond as he tried to fly alongside Thundercracker's steadily increasingly speeding form, the erratic and strikingly out of character actions of his ever reliable bondmate startling him entirely.

::I love you, Skywarp.:: TC pulled back suddenly, pulling away from Skywarp harshly and painfully, ripping himself from their bond as he roared, screaming again as he unloaded full out on Fireflight once more.

Fireflight rolled into the cascading laser fire, an endless loop of barrel rolls as he punched forwards, neatly evading the erratic firing of his former teammate.

Thundercracker knew, intimately, just how deadly and accurate of a shot Fireflight was. He had seen, with too-knowing optics, the deadly precision Fireflight was capable of unleashing against his enemies. He knew, and he waited for the return fire he also knew was coming his way. "Shoot!" Thundercracker roared, unheard over the raging, rushing air as he flew forward, crashing ever closer to Fireflight.

Fireflight pushed as he rolled onwards, still rotating over and around the blue Seeker's laser fire. Finally, with too much of his own betrayal and pain coursing through his lines, completely not understood by his brothers shared connection over their gestalt team bond, Fireflight opened fire in return. He screamed, a young and terrifying shriek in counterpart to Thundercracker's own howling cry of rage and pain as he arched breathlessly above Thundercracker's frame, the blue Seeker passing beneath him as his cockpit, his wingjoints, exploded in fire, in blinding explosions from Fireflight's lasers, their tailfins passing within microns of each other.

Thundercracker's engines stopped, all electrical activity ceasing as he plunged, falling to the Earth in silence. He swirled, his wings twirling his fast-falling frame around and around as he plummeted. Above him, his optics and sensors scanned the sky, capturing the image of the perfect, blue expanse, the crystal mountain air, the environment all around him on the organic world as he prepared to crash, to offline, and to die.

Thundercracker saw Fireflight's form streak overhead once more, followed by Skywarp's dark and stunning form. He thought he heard screaming, thought he heard a cry of pain from Skywarp, a cry of rage and terror and anger. He couldn't be certain though; it could have been his own echoing, empty spark and processor, finally released of his pain and longing.

It could have all been so much more.

-

Prowl and Jazz raced through the dark and flickering corridors of the dieing Quintesson ship, racing against their own perfect plan and its destruction. Their poisoned warship was plummeting, plunging towards the Earth's surface, it's deadly cargo contained within. Their gases onboard could, and would, kill any humans, any organic life it came into contact with as it spread, dispersing out and around from it's crash site on the planets surface. They had to stop it, somehow.

Prowl stepped over another Quintesson body, still gasping for air as the gases strangled his insides. Jazz led the way, the layout of the Quintesson's warship stretching out in his helm, within his processor. They were racing for the engineering deck, for the controls of the core, the controls to he mainframe, for the codes and programming that controlled the entire hulking warship, carrying it through space and continuing its own existence. It was vulnerable there, as all computers were, to alterations to its sub-programming, to its base functionality, to the core objectives and operations the mainframe allowed and empowered.

Prowl and Jazz were creeping forwards, preparing to turn the final corner for the last corridor when movement flashed over Prowl's doorwings, briefly, fleetingly. He turned, rifle ready to fire on the still-alive Quintesson, ready to annihilate the gasping, clinging organic. Instead, he found himself facing, at the far end of the hallway, a Quintesson strike force, a small band of ugly, brutish Quintessons, finally fighting back with force, with deadly tactics, against Prowl and Jazz's invasion. They wore protective coverings over their mouths, shielding them from the harmful gasses Prowl and Jazz had spread.

The rocket launch keyed Jazz into the new arrivals, turning just in time to see the shadowy forms behind him, stretched out at the end of the corridor. Prowl dove, shoving Jazz sideways and down the side corridor, the corridor leading to the engineering compartment, leaving himself alone in the main corridor to absorb the rocket's blasting impact.

Jazz shouted, pushing himself back upright as he clambered to his feet, then raced back around the corner to find and recover Prowl, find his bondmate amidst the suddenly surging blaster and laser rifle fire, amidst the damage and destruction.

Jazz found him hunkered down, half leaning and half sitting behind a mess of debris and destroyed bulkhead, a stain of energon leading from where he had obviously impacted the far bulkhead from the rocket attack, then dragged himself to his current, unsteady firing position. Jazz joined him in firing back, back against the rag-tag group of Quintesson's fighting back against their invasion, while his optics quickly scanned the damage.

Prowl had been knocked back by the rocket fire, by his sacrificial act for Jazz, impacting the back bulkhead hard enough to shatter his back windshield and leave a sizeable dent within the warship's metal. The worst of the damage though lay in his side, in the ruptured and leaking energon lines exposed and pulsing from within his transformation seams, from debris and shrapnel impacting against his vulnerable, sensitive sides and seam. The blast, the burning fire, had melted a swath of his internals, swelling and rupturing the surrounding systems, pain shooting throughout his processor from the impacts.

Jazz felt, acutely, the pain of his bondmate, the crush of the impact against his backplating, followed by the burning pain cascading through his sides and lines. He gritted his denta, still firing down the corridor as Prowl's shots felled another Quintesson. "Aim for their necks," Prowl gritted out through the pain, too much air escaping his vocalizer along with the words. His air cyler was damaged, filters on fire and burning within him from the rocket, from the impact, destroying his vents and throwing a slip into the firing of his engine. Too much air was escaping, not enough was fueling his systems, his internal, his engine.

"You have to keep going, Jazz," Prowl forced out through the pain, meeting Jazz's worried gaze through his visor. Prowl's optics were white with pain, with too much sensation as he briefly glanced over into Jazz's visor'd optics. "Engineering is just there. I'll cover you here." He hefted his rifle back across his chest, gritting his denta as he grimaced in a tight, humorless smile.

Jazz did not smile in return as Prowl continued to fire. "I'll be right back," he growled, gripping down on Prowl's leg briefly. They had no time, no time to waste. He rose quickly, gaze still locked on Prowl as his bondmate kept firing over the fallen bulkhead, behind the debris and destruction he used as cover, as concealment from the Quintessons firing back at him as his legs stretched out before him. His vents wheezed, air leaking from his too-damaged air cycler with each inhalation.

Jazz fled, tearing down the corridor under fire and racing around the corner once more, running at full speed for the engineering compartment. He physically tore the doors open, wrenching them from their sliding tracks as he threw his body into the doorframe. The engine thrummed overbright and far too fast, nearing overload, pulsing and throwing a dangerous light across the deck plating as Jazz crouched low and entered the deck.

Around him, Jazz saw the fallen and deceased bodies of the Quintessons, tentacles and arms stretched and reaching for their throats, for each other, lying where they fell in collapsing heaps. He eyed each one suspiciously, wary now of the one still faintly alive, able to fire as the one had at Prowl.

Jazz worked his way forward quickly, rushing to the controls near the engine housing, the massive size of the main drive dwarfing his self in its enormity. The energy within pounded, pulsing downwards and outwards too fast. Much too fast.

Jazz hastily pulled his cable from his forearm once more, ripping at the bottom panel of the terminal screen embedded in the railing surrounding the engine housing. He roughly attached it to the data line, the nano tubules breaching the decaying organic matter and plunging his processor into the mainframe of the Quintesson's computer once more. This time, he braced himself for the pain.

It was a different sort of agony, the agony of knowing you were dieing. The computer's core ripped through Jazz, tearing apart his limited control as he plunged through the organic bio-matter, stretching and reaching for the mathematical languages he could comprehend, could understand and manipulate beneath his processor. The pain, the agony, the bitter determination to destroy and obliterate the organic world housing the Cybertronians, was foreign and alien, and entirely impenetrable, to Jazz's hack.

He gasped, trying to focus, to reconnect across his bond to Prowl, to center himself again as he tried to push forward once more simultaneously. He felt, within his spark, a part of Prowl unfold. He gripped it, tightly, holding fast as he let go and let himself be swept away down the raging currents of the bio-organic mainframe.

The energy cascaded, swirling and taking him down to the energy drain of the engine housing, the power of the core thrumming and sucking into it the life-giving energies of the warship as it prepared to overload, to cascade in too much light and energy. Jazz halted, pulling himself forcefully from the swirl of consuming energy, the whirlpool swallowing the rest of the living computer. He searched, scrambled around frantically for something, anything to overload it, anything to kill it, destroy the machine before it completed its crashing, terrible course an trajectory.

Jazz struggled, wrestled with the core, with the still alive and fighting presence of the mainframe, feeding off the electrical energies of the consuming engine even as it's organic half died, decaying throughout the ship in dark, deadly husks. Its cold electric tentacles reached out, caressing against the power of Jazz's spark and processor, trying to suck the final bits of energy from the Saboteur for its own consumption, for its destruction. Jazz fought back, pushing and simultaneously pulling against the mainframe, losing his battle with the desperate, dieing core, with the mainframe surging underneath the panic and terror of it's own imminent death. It reached out, stretching for the warmth, for the alien energy of Jazz, desperate to suck it in, to unite with it entirely.

Prowl surged within him, suddenly and without warning, blinding and unfocusing the mainframe with the all too sudden dual presence of two mechs, of both Prowl and Jazz, within its circuits and core. It backed away, shrieking from the too bright energy pulse, overwhelmed from the different and alien energies rolling off of Jazz's shadowform within the core. It was too much, suddenly too much pulsing aliveness, too much energy from Jazz's form. It burned, beating back the core's reach into his processor.

Jazz felt Prowl fade backwards, weaker now from his assistance. Jazz had moments, moments before the core surged back, mainframe re-attacking him with a vengeance. He reached out, grasping with all of his processors strength, with every fiber of his frame, every tendril of his spark, at the mainframe's circuits, at its core code, the seeded functionality it operated from. He briefly, perfectly grasped down, seizing control of the base programming within, long enough to plant his program, a complicated and convoluted Cybertronian cascading sequence, intermingled with an Earth mathematical sequence. It was foreign, entirely, completely and totally convoluted to the Quintesson mainframe. He merged Arabic and Roman numerals from Earth, carrying the Cybertronian equivalent functions to the next program, setting an overload cascade, an offlining sequence, with a mix of code that baffled the mainframe entirely.

Jazz smiled as he felt the engine thrum, felt it cascade as it gobbled more energy to its core as he warship stuttered, engines surging and dieing, flickering and pulsing, as the circuitry hummed, new protocols and configurations suddenly within its base functionality. The loops began, folding in an around it's own core, the mainframe locked in a perplexing series of overloads and catastrophe's. Jazz faded, drawing outwards from the raging, shrieking core as he let go and fell back to Prowl's presence within his spark.

-

Starscream stared at Skyfire open mouthplated, frozen in shock. He gasped slightly as Skyfire stared back, optics unreadable as he stared over the red Seeker's form.

"Skyfire…" Starscream whispered, trailing off as Skyfire stepped backwards slowly, backing himself away from Starscream's form.

Skyfire had watched in shock, in horror, as Starscream destroyed Megatron in a triple betrayal of both Megatron and the Autobots. He wanted to scream, to rage against the universe, at the lost mech he had once loved, and to destroy this new imposter that wore Starscream's frame, that sounded like the mech he had once cherished.

Starscream had been over confident, regal and supreme in his victory as he stood over Megatron's offline corpse, gazing over the battlefield. It had always been his chief, prime flaw, that overconfidence, that arrogance that fueled his life.

Skyfire had seen his chance.

He dove low, breaking his battle position and severing his comms with Prime. He was scouting the battle from on high, relaying targets and attack patterns, the actions and reactions of the Decepticons from an eagle eye perspective, his advanced sensors keying into the nuances beneath and below him.

No longer; Skyfire landed with a rush on the launch platform next to Starscream, optics hard as he stared at the mech he had loved so much, so hard, so long ago. Starscream stared back in shock.

Skyfire backed away from Starscream, no longer feeling anything within his spark. He turned suddenly, reaching out his massive, overlarge arms to grip the rocket launcher, the full spread of stacked ICBM's, within his grasp.

Too late, Starscream recovered, realizing through his shock just what Skyfire was about to do. "No!" he shrieked, raising his null rays once more to Skyfire and preparing to fire. "Release them at once!" Starscream shouted, shrieking at the shuttle in rage.

Skyfire didn't spare Starscream even a glance as he blasted off, rocketing upwards in a hard, straight line, heading as high as he could fly before the rockets exploded within his grasp. Starscream transformed, following after him an astrosecond later.

Silverbolt heard Skyfire fire his powerful space thrusters from across the battlefield, then saw the shuttle launch himself straight into the air, carrying their prime targets, the ICBM missiles, away from the launching platform. "Aerialbots!" he shouted over their subnet, his determination lancing through their team bond. "Support Skyfire!"

Silverbolt and Slingshot shot forward, rolling above and over the battlefield towards Skyfire's rising form as Starscream pushed after him, firing in spurts upwards at the large shuttle's frame. Fireflight, Air Raid and Sky Dive shakily joined them both several moments later, Fireflight at the leading edge of their small wing, though shaking in his alt mode.

Together they surged, uniting across their bond as they all fell in formation together once more, their perfect union spreading across their sparks as they flew together. It had been unbearable, for the four left behind, when Fireflight had left them. They flew out of sync, off balance and unfocused. They were incomplete without their full set, without their entire team, their family, flying together. Together, they were unstoppable.

The five rotated upwards, igniting their afterburners as they pounded forwards, rolling around the conjoined contrails of Skyfire and Starscream. Silverbolt, at the tip, opened fire first, his spark-fueled rage at Starscream bleeding into his targeting sensors.

Starscream roared as the blast glanced across his wing, burning over his joints and circuits. He rolled sideways, over and over as he turned, firing as he tumbled back into the Aerialbot's formation. "You!" he shrieked as he spotted Silverbolt, rolling away from his laser fire and reforming with Skydive at his wing. "**You** are the reason Skyfire doesn't love me anymore!" Starscream screamed with rage, with blinding pain as he unleashed his null rays against Silverbolt, unloading his firepower on the Aerialbot leader.

The rest of the Aerialbots tried to support their leader, tried to fire on the Seeker, to distract him from his battle frenzy and fixation on their Concorde. Starscream didn't even falter, laser blasts screeching past his nosecone and wings as he plunged straight for Silverbolt.

::No, Starscream:: Skyfire's voice broke across their fractured bond once more, easier this time after Starscream had forcibly reopened their long dead connection, tearing into both of their sparks with impunity. ::I don't love you because of **you**.::

Starscream shook, screaming as he fired again and again, breaking off from his murderous pursuit of Silverbolt and rising once more to chase Skyfire, now close to the terminator between the Earth's atmosphere and the coldness of space beyond. Below him, Starscream felt, suddenly and foreignly, the fire of another Seeker, targeting the Aerialbots pursuing him once more. He felt the pained and terrorized sparking tendrils of Skywarp dance across his own spark briefly.

Starscream pushed onwards, ignoring Skywarp and the Aerialbots as they battled below, focused only on Skyfire, still rising higher above him.

-

Ratchet joined Wheeljack, working side by side with Martinez. He poured over Hound's internals, trying to reconnect the sloppy and entirely uncaring severance Hook had done to Hound's processor. Hound's spark skipped, holding on only for the presence of his friends, gathering strength through the thrumming energies he felt around him. His helm and processor swirled in a fog, blind and deaf to the events around him.

Martinez stripped the last of the wires surrounding the timing and firing sequence, having traced with Wheeljack the path of each, connecting into and around Hound's internals, uniting with his systems and crossing the circuit paths of the Scout in a long, lazy chain. He glared downwards at the wires bleeding from the panel, a mess of color and too many wires meeting his eyes. He grabbed the five leading wires, the individual strings controlling the launch and detonation of the weapons intimately connected to Hound.

'Bee was silent, panting and near offline status himself, exhausted from their shared drive out of the valley, sharing his energy and processor with Hound's damaged systems as he'd led them out of the mess of danger. Whitmore stood at his side, rifle clenched within his grip as his teeth ground together, eyes fixed on Martinez and Wheeljack's frantic work in Hound's flatbed.

"White, red, red, green or yellow?" Martinez looked into Wheeljack's optics, the inventor's audial fins online in a surge of emotion.

Wheeljack stared downwards, optics roaming over Hound's fame once more. Each of the wires led through a different system, a different weapon, a different cascade of energy drawing back through the timer if severed. If wrong, they would all blow, simultaneously, recognizing some fatal damage to their systems. If Wheeljack guessed wrong. He mentally traced the path of each wire again, their meandering courses through Hound and back into the firing panel.

"White," Wheeljack said, shaking. Martinez moved his wire cutters to the chosen wire, ready to snip the white thread as he glanced back to Wheeljack's frowning, wide-optic'd faceplates. "No!" Wheeljack shouted, hand stretching out quickly. "Red and red!"

Ratchet glanced up to stare at Wheeljack, optics hard and unreadable. Sunstreaker, next to Ratchet and still keeping an optic on the battle around them, inhaled shakily and stepped closer to the medic, slightly.

"Red and red," Wheeljack whispered again, nodding as he met Martinez's eyes once more. "Red and red." Martinez inhaled, holding his breath as he reached out once more, dropping the white wire to grab both red ones, setting them into the blades of the cutter.

He squeezed.

-

Bluestreak and Smokescreen fired in tandem, moving forwards and advancing on the Deception side-ridgeline across the sunken valley with Sideswipe's squad and Kup's team on either side of the two. Bluestreak and Smokescreen had discovered they both worked well together, fighting and supporting each other nearly without communication, with a silent understanding passing between them on the field. This had born no end of teasing from Hot Rod, comparing their identical mech modes and frame as similarly across their processors.

They pressed forwards, Soundwave and his Cassettes holding the line above them at the ridgeline with Astrotrain, Drag Strip and Dead End, while the Dinobots grappled with the Constructicons as they merged into Devastator on the far edge of the battlefield. An artillery battery supported the Dinobots, firing around and over their forms to detonate in close range around Devastator. The rest of the Stunticons were roaring to support Skywarp, Thrust, Dirge and Ramjet, the four Seekers battling against the five Aerialbots above Megatron's empty launch platform.

The Combaticons fought fiercely with the Protectobots, enveloped and folded into the line of human soldiers, the Army Infantry battalions on the ridgeline behind the dually advancing squads of Sideswipe and Kup in the valley below.

Sideswipe crouched low next to Bluestreak and Smokescreen, sheltering himself behind a rocky outcropping with the two Datsuns. "We need to get them down from that ridgeline," Sideswipe hissed. "They're pinning us back down here."

Bluestreak fired around the outcropping once more, aiming for the helm of Rumble as the Cassette poked his helm upwards from the edge of the ridgeline. He had devastated the Dinobots with his pile drivers, shaking the Earth beneath their large and heavy alt modes as they teetered off balance. The artillery, firmly backing the roaring Dinobots now, had finally stopped Rumble's quaking.

"Can you two get yourselves up on the side of that hill?" Sideswipe pointed to their left, to a small, rock-covered hill, barren save for a few sad looking scrubby bushes. "We can call in close air support from the Air Force, but they need exact target coordinates."

"You've got to be kidding me," Smokescreen grumbled. "How much more exact do they need? 'Hit the big robots on the mountain!'"

Sideswipe grinned at the blue and red Datsun as roguishly as Springer ever had. "The humans are not nearly as accurate as our own Aerialbots." Bluestreak's helm whirled around as Sideswipe frowned after his own words. "Actually, they're not often that accurate either."

"Except Fireflight, he's amazing when he shoots, really they all are, actually-," Bluestreak interjected as Smokescreen fired out once more.

Sideswipe glanced sideways at Bluestreak, askance with his optic ridges arched upwards in disbelief. "Fireflight? Sure thing, buddy." Sideswipe patted his shoulderjoint briefly before pulling a small laser scope from his subspace and handing it to Bluestreak. "Here, this is the laser you need to fire on the Decepticon position for the Air Force to zero in on."

Bluestreak frowned. "If I'm firing a laser, then wont that impact the Decepticons and let them know what we're doing?"

Sideswipe shook his helm as their outcropping shook. Smokescreen cursed and rose up, firing back a volley of laser fire back upwards at Astrotrain and Soundwave. "It's not a weapon. It's a guidance for their internal scanners."

Bluestreak nodded, then turned to Smokescreen. "Ready to run?" Smokescreen asked. Bluestreak nodded.

"I'll cover you," Sideswipe said just before he rose, pelting the ridgeline with laser fire in conjunction with Kup, Hot Rod and Blaster as their twin Datsuns tore away from the group, clambering across the battlefield and racing for the small, rocky hill nearby.

-

Jazz struggled to continue moving forward, half running, half walking down the corridor as the warship trembled, shaking and creaking around him as the final death throes of the mainframe erupted throughout the entire structure. Prowl leaned heavily into his side, one arm draped over his shoulderjoints as he struggled to keep his legs moving forward with Jazz.

Jazz squeezed Prowl's hipplates, drawing him closer and deeper into his side. "C'mon Prowl, we need to keep moving," Jazz gritted out through his denta. They had one chance, only one, to escape, to flee. The Quintessons maintained hanger pods, stretching out from their tangled, massive warship, spikes and outcroppings extending and expanding all around. The pods were quick ingress and egress access points, the Quintesson Empire mostly now in existence entirely in the stars, within the universe, sharing and spreading their resources around their warships, their battleships and their populations. If they could get to one, they might be able to escape.

It seemed less and less likely though, as the ship continued to overload around the two escaping Cybertronians, terminals and circuitry exploding, consoles igniting with too much energy surging through them, melting the sensitive internals and setting fire to the surrounding structures. Bulkheads began to collapse, blasting outwards from internal explosions on the walls and down from above, crashing to the deck plating and nearly crushing the mechs as the ship began to come apart down to its support struts.

Prowl gasped, wheezing next to Jazz as he clung to his bondmate, trying to push onwards and not slow down Jazz's escape. "We're almost there," Jazz gritted out again as he pulled Prowl forwards once more, the Enforcer nearly unresponsive as his optics flickered. His engine was firing too fast, bursting and stuttering from lack of oxygen, the fires in his engine not being fueled enough for his body's systems. His energon was pounding, trying to be forced around his systems despite his weakening engine, the last throes of its frantic firing pushing the pressures higher. Soon, it would weaken, the energon flow slowing once more, then drop off entirely.

The warship continued to come apart around them in fiery explosions as Jazz, through force of will alone, hauled Prowl through the corridors and into the hanger pod finally, Prowl's helm lolling against his shoulderjoint as they pushed inside. The Quintesson shuttles were different, entirely, from their own, long, slim shuttles with barely any room in the front area for Jazz to pilot.

He didn't even try.

Jazz pushed Prowl inside the nearest shuttle, laying his bonded gently on the long, cramped floor, his doorwings awkwardly pushed upwards as Prowl lay on them and set his gasping helm down with care before jumping up to seal the airlock door. There wasn't any room, not at all, to maneuver, and he crouched low, stepping awkwardly around Prowl's form as he tried to push himself to the controls.

Jazz couldn't even get close, couldn't reach the entirely foreign and unknown piloting controls of the Quintesson shuttle. The hanger pod began to shake, trembling as the main structures of the warship began to come apart, separating amidst the continuing fiery explosions as the mainframe finally died, cracking and shrieking apart under the cascades of overloading energy Jazz had directed to the core, combined with the killing, strangling effects of their poisoned gases, eating and tearing through the organic circuitry.

It was a messy, loud, and painful death for the warship, as it came apart under the fractured stresses of the micro and macro explosions spreading throughout. Jazz backed away from the control panel and began to kick through the slim opening between the seats at the controls. He kicked, hard, trying to get some sort of reaction from the dead and offline controls. Nothing happened.

Jazz grunted in frustration before the shuttle slid across the deck plating, tossing Jazz sideways into the bulkhead roughly as the hanger pod shattered, ceiling plates crashing to the deck as the deck plating twisted, fracturing underneath the explosions surrounding them. The shuttle slid backwards as another cascading boom shuddered from behind them.

Prowl groaned on the deck plating, tossed just as roughly as Jazz had been though jostled worse in his injured state. Jazz pushed himself backwards, down the slim shuttle's center to collapse above Prowl, hands spread over his shoulderjoints as his kneejoints landed on either side of Prowl's hipplates. Prowl's optics were offline.

"Prowl?" Jazz whispered down to his bondmate, stroking outwards over his bond for his mate, for the still thinly alive presence of his bonded. Their bond had surged after Prowl had assisted him within the core, pushing into his spark to save him. They hadn't separated, hadn't fallen out of each other's spark since then, the fullness of their selves still within each other.

Prowl's optics didn't flicker, didn't online, though his helm rolled sideways, breaths short and unfocused. His white hand scrabbled tentatively, shakily across the deck plating, briefly touching Jazz's kneejoint in a soft caress. Jazz collapsed suddenly on top of Prowl, gasping in shock and surprise as he clung downwards, gripping hard to Prowl's shoulderjoints as the pod was lifted, violently, tossed about and thrown spectacularly to and fro amidst the final, bursting explosions, consuming the shuttle entirely in a flaming curl of too-hot fire.

The warship burned, fires consuming the interior, the structures, everything contained within in the cold blackness of space, white-hot lances of energy spiking outwards all around. As the fire consumed its fuel, destroying everything in its path, it winked out, suddenly and entirely, losing the power and foundations for its destructive conquest in the isolation and emptiness of space, leaving only the charred, hulking remains of the superstructures behind to float airily in the void.

-

Skyfire pushed higher, pushed onwards, rocketing through the Karman line and breaking the mesopause separating the Earth's lower atmospheres from the openness of space beyond. He felt his temperature gauges plummet, the iciness of space taking over in its familiarity as he never experienced on Earth, not even frozen in the Arctic ice.

He pushed onwards, rocketing himself further up, still higher, determined to not allow the missiles to explode anywhere near the Earth, to not allow Starscream and Megatron's joined evil to destroy the home he had come to cherish. It had been so long, too long since he had been back to Cybertron. Everything was different now; he wasn't sure he wanted to ever go back, not now, not with the changes. The changes brought about thanks to Starscream, joined together with Megatron.

Skyfire finally stopped within the troposphere, far above the ionosphere, far above the Human satellites, far above the human's space station, orbiting the Earth in silence. He gripped tightly onto the rockets, feeling the power and potential thrum within. It had increased steadily, pounding faster and faster as he felt the circuits hum and begin to activate, the launching of the rockets slowly beginning within their cores. He inhaled shakily.

Starscream streaked by him, swirling around in a wide loop before finally transforming and hovering in front of the overlarge shuttle, faceplates sneering, twisting in rage. He was ugly, horrifically so, when he was raging, when his temper took over. When he was vain. When he was pretentious. "Skyfire!" Starscream shrieked through the intercom. "What are you doing?"

Skyfire's optics unfocused as he stared at Starscream, blurring under the crushing emotions within his spark once more. Starscream still had his space mods, the modifications Skyfire had installed within the Seeker himself so they could fly out into the stars together, finally exploring that which they so longed to see. He still had them, allowing his systems to still function within the dark emptiness, the hostility of space.

Starscream was beautiful, suddenly, hovering above the blue-haloed Earth, stars shimmering behind him in brilliant cascades. He was raging, vents cycling too fast as he tried to expel the heated air from within his systems, built from within during his flight. His paint, dented, scratched, and burned in places, shone, gleaming and beckoning to Skyfire. He was as alive, and as gorgeous in space as Skyfire had always remembered. It hurt, too much.

"Leave, Starscream," Skyfire spat out, vocalizer low and husky. "Leave!"

Starscream's optics darted between the missiles and Skyfire, the crux of Megatron and his joined plan to devastate the Earth removed from their place and now floating, useless, within Skyfire's arms. It had to be Skyfire, of course, again, to ruin everything. "Let them go!" Starscream shrieked once more over their comm.

Skyfire shook his helm, gripping tighter and holding on fast. Starscream couldn't possibly remove them from his grip, couldn't possible take them physically from him. Still, he didn't budge, still staring into Starscream's optics as his spark fluttered, surging and cracking again and again.

Starscream growled, finally raising his null rays once more Skyfire, only the third time he'd ever done so. They had avoided each other on the battlefield, Skyfire preferring his role as a fast-shuttle for medical care, for extrications and for observation, rather than the direct violence of the battle.

"Skyfire!" Starscream shrieked again, finally allowing something other than anger, than rage, to pour through his words. "They're going to destroy you! Let them go!"

Skyfire stilled as he felt the final electrical circuit slide into place, the final surging hum transferred through the casing of the rockets. He felt, distinctly, the slide of parts and motions into place within the long rocket housing. There wasn't much time.

Skyfire stared hard into Starscream's optics. "You shouldn't have made me take them then. You **knew** what I would do."

Starscream froze, entirely, staring open mouthplated and in shock at his former bondmate, the one mech he had loved too much. He didn't know, not exactly, what Skyfire would and wouldn't do, but he did know, in his spark, the gentle soul of the giant shuttle, the calm and laughing processor that always sought the path of the greatest good, the greatest happiness for all. He was always sacrificial, always self-sacrificial, giving of himself to everyone. Even to Starscream, millions of years ago in a snowstorm when he tried to pull them both out, tried to guide him from the raging winds. Everything had changed after that snowstorm, after Skyfire's self-sacrificial actions, after Starscream had circled the planet for cycles, for megacycles, screaming over the comm at Skyfire for his reckless, stupid actions, and for leaving him all alone.

"Go!" Skyfire screamed suddenly, feeling the last of the rockets prime to explode. He held fast to the launching mechanism, not allowing them to rise from the launcher, gripping down tight on the pins to keep the rockets next to Skyfire's overlarge frame. "Get out of here, Starscream!"

Starscream backed away slowly, thrusters pulling him back from Skyfire and his stolen rockets. He shook his helm, slowly, optics wide and over bright. "I **never** stopped loving you…" he whispered as he continued to back away from Skyfire's soon to be offline form. He couldn't turn, couldn't look away, not from this. He didn't even know why he was backing up, some part of his processor seizing control and refusing to let him let go, as he never had before, and wouldn't do, ever.

Skyfire offlined his optics as he felt the final click through the too hot and thin metal covering. "I'll see you in the Matrix, Starscream," he whispered back.

From far away, too far for their bare optics to have seen before, an explosion surged, curls of fire expanding and extinguishing just as suddenly, ringing around a brilliant, expanding warship, exploding in a surging fireball in a distant orbit. Starscream's optics shifted, helm turning to stare at the explosion, at the Quintesson warship finally destroyed under Prowl and Jazz's actions. He gasped, surging against the overwhelmingly confusing emotions pushing through his spark, his elation, his joy, his wicked glee, his shared sadness and satisfaction at Prowl and Jazz's demise.

Just as suddenly, and without Starscream's optics locked onto Skyfire, distracted by the explosion of the warship, Skyfire's rockets exploded. A fracture, a beam of light, and a soundless, expanding wash spread outwards, blasting against Starscream's frame. He rolled, caught in the energy surge as he screamed downwards, escaping back to the ironic safety of the Earth, of the organic planet beneath him, transforming back among the clouds and streaking straight down in his familiar jet mode, screaming out loud as he flew. He screamed, again and again, he vocalizer turned rough and raw, scorched and burning under his repeated shrieks, raging against Skyfire, his choices, and their entirely destroyed life.

He screamed all the way back down to the battlefield.

-

_They didn't explode_. Martinez exhaled, repeating again and again in his mind the words, not believing them even as he held the severed wires in his hands. The timer, the firing circuit, lay offline and unpowered, no longer dangerously threatening them all, and Hound, with devastation.

Wheeljack's vents exhaled forcefully, his audial fins weakly flashing in a long, low pulse. Whitmore sighed and collapsed against 'Bee, forearm rising up to 'Bee's doorframe as he rested his forehead against his sleeve, rolling his head back and forth in momentary exhaustion. The battle continued far to their left, themselves tucked out of sight as they struggled to free Hound. Jets screamed overhead, arching in long contrails towards the Decepticon lines

Ratchet grunted as he tried to reconnect a few of the circuits into Hound's processor the damage far to extensive for a simple field procedure. Hound would need massive reconstructive surgery, rebuilding and reconfiguring nearly his entire processor and pathway circuits. He was still too weak, far too weak for Ratchet's liking.

Hound grunted beneath Ratchet's fingers, vents gasping suddenly as the medic reconnected a circuit pathway to his vocalizer. "Ratchet?" Hound rasped weakly.

"Quiet!" Ratchet barked to the Jeep beneath his fingers. "You're too weak to talk!"

Hound chuckled, softly, a tiny, tinny, weak sound, lacking any real power. "Glad you're back, Doc." Hound pulled inwards, relaxing under the slightly electric feel of Ratchet's fingers poking in his internals, underneath his hood and in his interior. Martinez was still crouched in his flatbed, now inspecting the offline weapons the Decepticons had acquired. Hound pulled deeper, relaxing into his spark. ::Mirage…::

The relieved presence of his bondmate filled his processor, equally happy and overly thankful to the humans around Hound, the humans he'd still never met. ::I thought you said this was a "safe" mission, Hound.::

Hound chuckled again, their private joke playing out in reverse, Hound this time as the one in danger, not Mirage, not the spy. ::You know me:: Hound replied tiredly, weakly. ::Always rushing into danger::

Hound felt the still-relieved laughter of Mirage thrum through his spark once more. Nothing could be further form the truth. Hound was the ever reliable, ever faithful, ever cautious mech of the Autobots, always. ::Rest:: Mirage replied simply, pulling out from his bonded to let Hound relax, let him quiet under Ratchet's continued work.

Ratchet had just begun a series of fluid transfers, spiking and withdrawing the last of the energon rations, the pain sensor deadeners, the fluids and oils he had carried with him on their travels to Cybertron when Sunstreaker collapsed, the golden twin gasping harshly in ragged, shaking vents and clutching at his chestplates with his free hand. Ratchet froze, shocked optics wide with fear as Sunstreaker gasped again, moaning as his hand scratched deep into his paint, tearing at his chestplates wildly.

Sunstreaker's optics shot upwards, meeting Ratchet's fearful pair with his own panicked set, nearly entirely white with frantic terror and worry. "Sideswipe," he whispered, vocalizer shaking as he stared up at Ratchet open-mouthplated. "He's…"

"Go," Ratchet whispered back, his hands beginning to shake as they had never done before.

Sunstreaker tried to pull himself up, loosing his balance and falling to the hard packed dirt before rising again. His jaw cables clenched as he gritted his denta, bearing down against the pain that was suffocating him across their twin-sparked bond. Wheeljack raced to his side, helping to steady the golden warrior on his feet. "I'll go with you," Wheeljack said quickly, meeting Ratchet's shocked and unbelieving faceplates and optics.

Sunstreaker didn't acknowledge Wheeljack, merely grabbed the inventor's forearm and began to run, to tear back across to the battlefield, his spark and its pain leading the way as he stumbled, raced towards his brother. He was terrified of what he'd find.

-

Starscream fired a long series of arching shots around the still swirling forms of the Aerialbots. The five Autobot flyers were locked in battle with the Seekers still, Thrust's trine fighting onwards together while Skywarp ragged through the sky in a wild battle frenzy. He was terrifying, merciless in his ragged pursuit of the Aerialbots and Fireflight in particular. The two were locked in dogfight, Fireflight's massively plotted and fantastic evasive maneuvers taking him in and around the battlefield, over and under the ridgelines, falling to the ground before rising back up. Skywarp kept up his pursuit, relentless.

Silverbolt tried to follow Fireflight in his escape, the remaining four Aerialbots split between needing to protect their brother and fight off Thrust's trine. Air Raid broke away, chasing after Skywarp's afterburners as Silverbolt, Skydive and Slingshot remained, grappling with the three Seekers again and again.

A set of targets, of bogeys, appeared on Starscream's HUD radar, four Air Force F-18's screaming forwards onto the battlefield and heading straight for the Decepticon ridgeline to Starscream's right. He dove, swirling down and under the oncoming fighters before rising to flank them from behind. The flyer in the rear of the formation banked hard, rolling around to face Starscream head on as the three others pushed forwards.

Starscream fired his null rays, hot shots of energy streaking across the sky as the human jet opened fire with his guns, bullets raining down from his trajectory and flight path into Starscream's own. He wasn't used to physical weapons, wasn't used to hard impact of the super heated metal pieces clipping against his wings. His response time was slowed, parts of his processor jarred and fritzed from the explosion above, high within the very edge of the Earth's atmosphere. _Skyfire…._

A series of loud, Earth shaking explosions, sending a geyser of destroyed Earth straight into the sky erupted below Starscream and the F-18. The three other human jets banked hard, splitting in their turn to reform as one wing, one unit once more, their payload of bombs dropped on the laser-painted ridgeline. The human fighter engaging Starscream raced to rejoin his wing, the other three covering his flight with more shots to the red Seeker.

Starscream growled, trying to evade and escape the now not in his favor odds presented by the four attacking human fighters. They pursued him, still firing their underwing guns as one finally launched a thermal guided missile.

Starscream's plunging descent, his roll to escape was suddenly overshadowed by the teleporting form of Skywarp flying in above him and arching a stretch of laser fire between the missile and Starscream, catching the heat seeking missile in the burn of the laser. Skywarp rolled, falling in behind the four human jets before they could react, before they processed the extra contact on the radar, and began to fire.

Skywarp unloaded, just as hotly and mercilessly as he had onto Fireflight, taking out his raging pain against the human jets. He hated, everything. He hated Fireflight. He hated the humans. He hated the organic world, the organic world that had taken Thundercracker. He hated Thundercracker. He hated Starscream. He hated Megatron. He hated himself. He raged, again and again, as he continued to fire.

One jet caught on fire, engines consumed in a burning lance of laser fire before exploding an instant later. The other three turned sharply, banking and fleeing the battle, pushing hard and fast to the Autobot lines. Skywarp made to pursue, before Starscream hailed him over the comm. "Skywarp! Did you destroy that Autobot lackey of Thundercracker's?"

Starscream rose, pulling himself into Skywarp's lead wing position. The purple jet radiated too much energy, too much anger and hatred off his alt mode. The mention of Thundercracker's name caused his circuits to jolt, his wings to twitch, rolling slightly against the other in a cascade of emotion. "No," Skywarp hissed back darkly. "You needed assistance."

Starscream felt over their bond, now entirely unable to be shuttered as it had been for so long, the curling hatred emanating from Skywarp outwards, partly directed at himself. The anger, the betrayal. The tired acceptance mixed with defeat, all wrapped beneath the too jumbled to be identified emotions of losing Thundercracker, of losing his trinemate, his partner in the skies. "How kind of you," Starscream hissed back to Skywarp as he circled, preparing to land on the empty and half destroyed launching platform Megatron had built and disguised into the ridgeline.

"Don't thank me," Skywarp shot back, transforming alongside Starscream to shoot a pained and horrible glare to his commander. "You're all I have left now." The pain, the rage, the shame within those words was almost too unbearable to hear. Starscream's thoughts once again shot to Skyfire, to the stubborn shuttle and his refusal to save himself, again, from certain death, again.

Skywarp was all he had too now.

Starscream hated the thought, bitter and horrible as it was. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not his life. Not his victory over Megatron, not this final, perfect cycle that he seized control. Thundercracker was supposed to understand, was supposed to smile at him once more, in his tired, long suffering way, Skywarp grinning at his side. Skyfire was supposed to gaze at him, remembering fondly the times they had spent together, the exploration they had done, the history of their union. He was supposed to see Starscream, see him strong, see him powerful, and desire him once more. It was all supposed to be so different, on **that** cycle, on the cycle he seized control, took his life back from where it had all gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

Clearly, **that** cycle was not **this** cycle.

Starscream stepped forward, to the edge of the burned and mangled platform, impacted by artillery fire from an assault while he had been flying. He gazed beneath him, to the valley below, and to the Autobots and Decepticons still grappling together, raging against one another, the human military personnel supporting the fight from the Autobot ridgelines. The Autobot Jeep, the secondary explosives, and the nuclear fallout from that potentiality was now extinguished, Ratchet and a small group of Autobots and humans having managed to overcome Hook's intricacies, just as Starscream had suspected.

It was all over with then, the basis for their plan, for this battle. The weapons and rockets were gone, destroyed and eliminated by Skyfire and the Autobot medic. Their reason, Megatron's reason, for this battle evaporated, faded away, now merely a loud and angry confrontation of their full forces, yet again, on a different world, an organic world.

Those goals of Megatron's had never actually been goals of Starscream's, however. His goals, his desires, from the very beginning, the very inception of the plan, had been this, had been this now bittersweet victory, the claiming of his rightful place within the Decepticon hierarchy once more, his position as leader never to be disputed again by the offline hulk of Megatron. His corpse, offline and chilling in the cool mountain air, lay discarded behind the two Seekers, entirely ignored.

Starscream's goals then, had been achieved, though at a price he wasn't allowing his spark to feel, not yet. There was no longer a need to be out there, to chase the Autobots in a frenzy of hate and broken metal. Not this cycle. Not when he still had plans, still had goals and desires and dreams back on Cybertron. "Decepticons," Starscream began, pinging out over the battlenet as their Leader. "Fall back. Our objectives have been destroyed."

-

Bluestreak had been momentarily elated when the Air Force arrived, dropping their heavy weaponry and bombs on the ridgeline protecting Soundwave, his cassettes, and the Stunticons. His elation turned to momentary fear followed by tired determination when he realized the blast had actually not destroyed the Decepticons. They had dove forward, evading the destruction raining down upon them and back beyond the ridgeline as they slid forwards, down the hillside and into the valley. Now, they were to faceplates with their enemies, Soundwave's hulking form bracketed by Drag Strip and Dead End, Astrotrain's hulk rising in the background as well amidst the clouds of dust and shattered rock. The Cassettes stood in front, Ravage pacing back and forth, snarling as Rumble and Frenzy glared while Laserbeak flew overheads angrily.

The three other Stunticons had come screaming down the near mountainside, sliding before tearing across the valley floor to join their gestalt teammates, the shock and lance of the bombing attack piercing over their bond. Motormaster, Wildrider and Breakdown had transformed, Motormaster's ugly faceplates twisting into an energon-thirsty grimace before he threw himself into the space between, rushing headlong into battle against the Autobots with a primal call of hatred. Rumble and Frenzy had followed immediately.

Now, Wildrider and Hot Rod grappled hand-to-hand, fists and kicks interspersed between reaches for laser rifles. Bluestreak and Smokescreen were pinned back at the base of their rocky hill by Astrotrain and Soundwave's piercing laser fire, holding them from joining their squads and forcing them to split their fire between trying to cover their teammates and fire back on the two Decepticons. Kup and Blaster traded shots with Breakdown and Dead End while Kup frantically shouted to Hot Rod, trying to get the younger mech to break off. The Cassettes grappled with the two minibots, Cliffjumper and Huffer tackling and attacking Rumble and Frenzy again and again. They had joined with Sideswipe's squad after most of their teammates were sidelined from 'Bee's own mission, 'Bee still off with the human's and themselves unable to form a full fire team. Tracks and Inferno traded shots with Drag Strip, while Ironhide, who had joined Sideswipe's squad on the field due to both Bluestreak and Sunstreaker's absence instead of remaining the command unit with Prime and the Army personnel, tried to help free Bluestreak and Smokescreen from the punishing shots of Soundwave and Astrotrain.

Sideswipe himself grappled hand to hand with Motormaster, the too large Decepticon snarling and roaring in Sideswipe's faceplates as the twin punched, elbowed, kicked, grappled for all he was worth against the ferocious mech. He was grateful, in that instant, to have wrestled and grappled Sunstreaker so many times, physically tearing into each other again and again, fighting and grappling in much the same way he was fighting against Motormaster. Against Motormaster however, he fought to destroy, to kill, unlike with his brother, despite how much he wanted to at rare times.

Rumble suddenly shouted, raging as he pounded his pile driver into Cliffjumper's abdominal plating beneath him again and again. "You've got to me kidding me!" he shouted, both over the battlenet and out loud to his brother nearby. "We're winning!"

Starscream's orders had just pinged, his call to retreat from the battlefield met with mixed reactions from the assembled Decepticons. Motormaster ignored it entirely, still raging against Sideswipe as he reached for the red twin's helm, preparing to rip it from his frame. The rest of the Stunticons paid no mind either, following the crazed form of their leader still locked in battle. Wildrider delivered a vicious blow to Hot Rod, the younger mech's helm bouncing off the hard earth with a sharp crack, pained groan escaping his vocalizer as his optics swam suddenly with three Wildrider's glaring, grinning down at him. Distantly, Hot Rod heard Kup's angry shouts.

Soundwave interjected, calling out over the battlenet in surprising support of Starscream's new leadership. "Course of action justified. Objectives: Destroyed. Battle: No longer efficient."

Starscream hesitated as he heard Soundwave's words, heard the monotone echo reverberate though the battlenet. He was always suspicious of Soundwave, always suspicious of the seemingly ever faithful and loyal 3IC of Megatron's. Soundwave had interfered before, foiling his plans to overthrow Megatron while allowing others to slide, even when he should have known, should have done more. This time, Starscream hadn't been certain, had never been certain, that Soundwave didn't know from the beginning. It was his one unknown.

However, Soundwave was a Decepticon, and followed their ways, their beliefs. Those of the strong, of the powerful, led. Starscream had finally, perfectly proven it, standing over Megatron's corpse in his shining, horrible glory.

Rumble growled, groaning as he backed away, no longer relentlessly pounding into Cliffjumper's steadily weakening form. Frenzy covered him, Ravage joining the two Cassettes as they raced back to Soundwave. To their right, they saw the Dinobots now grappling with the Combaticons, Onslaught, Brawl and Blast Off facing off against Grimlock, Slag and Sludge. Vortex traded shots with Swoop, the petrodactyl outmaneuvering the slower helo as artillery fire poured in. The Constructicons had heeded Starscream's order's instantaneously, falling back and away from their support of the Combaticons and rejoining the Seeker at the base of their still Decepticon controlled, albeit much smaller, ridgeline near the platform.

Motormaster continued to ignore Starscream's calls, continued to ignore the order to fall back as he pounded into Sideswipe's helm relentlessly. He punched, fingers extending to scratch, to tear, across the helm's plating. Sideswipe growled, kicking back outwards and slamming his elbow upwards to the Decepticon's faceplates, shattering his cheekarch and nasal bridge as the hulking Decepticon roared in pain.

Wildrider gripped hard around Hot Rod's throat collum, pushing into his lines and crushing his sensitive gears under his relentless pressure. He grinned, denta exposed as his lipplates curled, wickedly, nastily. Kup screamed, a low, throaty wail as he rose finally from his covered position, rushing headlong into the firing spray of Breakdown and Dead End in an entirely too much like Hot Rod maneuver.

Wildrider looked up to see Kup charging his frame, Blaster doing his best to cover the older mech's advance with a spread of covering fire. Wildrider growled, preparing himself to lunge, to attack the older mech, when Kup dropped, throwing himself to the ground and to Hot Rod's side, sliding along on his side seams as he fired upwards, into the sensitive side seams of Wildrider's own form, entirely unexpectedly. Wildrider hissed, growling in pain as he rolled sideways off of Hot Rod and crashed to the ground next to the younger Autobot.

Hot Rod rolled towards Kup, gasping. Kup grimaced, reaching for his side, his hand coming away stained pink with energon. The slide scraped a good portion of his armor and side seams into ribbons. Hot Rod grinned, wide and open-mouthplated. "Good job, old 'bot!" he croaked, pushing himself to his hands and kneejoints while Kup watched Wildrider.

Kup frowned, one hand on his laser rifle and still trained on the Stunticon. "You left out the part about it hurting like the Pit." Kup's maneuver had been a similar one to Hot Rod's own, several battles ago on Cybertron. Kup had hollered at him at length afterwards.

Hot Rod's smile grew as he pushed himself upwards to his kneejoints, then rose, extending a hand downwards to pull the still-frowning Kup up as well. "I learned from you. You leave out stuff from your stories all the time."

Blaster's shots rang around them as Dead End and Breakdown rushed forwards, firing at the two Autobots and racing to Wildrider's wounded side. Kup and Hot Rod ducked, running together back to Blaster and the safe cover of their small hillside, the incline rising just enough to shield them from the fire.

Soundwave drew forward with his cassettes, providing additional cover fire as Dead End and Breakdown dragged Wildrider backwards, back to their lines. He pressed ahead out to Motormaster still grappling with Sideswipe, the Decepticon now pinning the twin down to the ground mercilessly, one kneejoint on his chestplates, hands still grappling for dominance as Sideswipe's legs kicked out furiously.

Bluestreak refocused as Smokescreen continued firing at Astrotrain, the Decepticon now coordinating the fall back and cover of the Combaticons as the Dinobots roared, raged in their victory and their opponents defeat. Ironhide and Cliffjumper gave chase, pursuing the Combaticons along the ridgeline as they fired upwards, chasing them back to Starscream's position. Bluestreak fired a burst of three shots, three laser blasts, at Motormaster, impacting the tough armored truck in the shoulderjoint and collapsing his arm holding him up, plummeting his weight down on Sideswipe's form.

Sideswipe grunted as Motormaster's weight crushed down on him, suddenly without the use of his arm. He howled in pain above Sideswipe as Sideswipe pushed upwards, maneuvering his legs underneath the hulking form above to plant both feet firmly on the front hipplates of the Decepticon. He lunged, kicking upwards and throwing Motormaster off him with all his might.

Motormaster flew, impacting hard and roughly back towards the Decepticon line. Soundwave turned towards the remaining Stunticon as he kept firing back at Blaster while Kup and Hot Rod worked to patch Kup's injuries as minimally as they could. Before Soundwave could speak, before he could order the lead Stunticon back, Motormaster transformed, an angry snarl escaping his lipplates as he raced off after his team.

Sideswipe scrabbled in the dirt, on his back, for his laser rifle, dropped when Motormaster tackled him and kicked aside as they continued their wrestling. He clawed forwards, his fingertips brushing against the metal as he lay, open and exposed, before he gripped down, pulling it into his tight hand and swinging wide, firing as he rolled.

Frenzy, down on one knee in front of Soundwave, never saw the shot.

He fell backwards, offline instantly as the shot pierced his neck collum, severing and melting his internal lines and creating a blowback down to his spark chamber, destroying the pulsing rhythms of both it and the Cassette's engine.

Sideswipe froze, optics wide and vents cycling heavily. He had expected to hit Motormaster, to find the Stunticon leader racing after him, ready to attack him once more. He hadn't expected the Cassette to be covering his creator as the Decepticons retreated.

Smokescreen cursed as he saw Astrotrain advance, duck down and recover for Soundwave as the Decepticon 3IC shifted his attention from the fallen offline form of his Cassette, his creation, to Sideswipe. His optics narrowed, ruby red and blazing.

Astrotrain began firing, spraying the valley again with fire as Smokescreen tried to shoot back, tried to attack the triple changer and stop his cover of Soundwave. Blaster shouted over their battlenet, frantic, "I can't get a good angle on Soundwave! He's moved too far forward!"

Soundwave advanced, merciless, on Sideswipe, the red Lambo struggling to fire on the advancing, raging form of Soundwave. His rifle's laser core was clogged, the intakes for the firing jammed with dirt and debris from their scrambles and kicking in the dust. He'd had one shot, one good shot, loaded and primed in the firing core. The laser was useless now.

Sideswipe scrambled backwards in the dirt, trying to flee as Soundwave's larger frame finally trapped him, finally pinned him. He reached out, stepping on Sideswipe's foot with his own massive blue one, crushing the ankle joint of the red twin beneath him. He stepped off the now immobile, screaming twin, still trying to drag himself away, then stepped forward once more, crushing the red Lambo's hand, still holding the useless rifle, and wristjoint beneath his foot as well, staying pressed firmly down on the one arm. Sideswipe screamed, shaking with pain as Soundwave knelt down over him, raising his laser rifle to fire.

Bluestreak rose, charging headlong into the firing spray of laser fire exchanged between Astrotrain, Blaster and Smokescreen, uncaring of anything save for getting back across the valley to Sideswipe, helpless beneath Soundwave's clutch. Sideswipe shook, trembled in the dirt as the hulking blue Decepticon leaned forward, fingers digging into the chestplates of the red twin, laser rifle pushed down into his faceplates, into his helm. One shot would destroy his CPU, fry his processor entirely.

Soundwave wasn't after the twin's processor though. He wasn't interested in a quick or painless death for the red Lambo. The Cassettes were Soundwave's own, split spark derivatives of his own creation. He shared a spark bond with them, a creator's bond, theirs strengthened to a tight-knit kinship, a fighting clan.

He knew Sideswipe, the red Lamborghini, had a twin as well. The twin terrors were merciless to the Decepticons, raging against them again and again. They fought together, battled together, by all spy accounts from Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, recharged together, took their energon together, did everything together. They were each other's world, their lives, just as his Cassettes were his own.

Soundwave knew just how to destroy that. He pushed downwards on the laser rifle still, even as Bluestreak's laser began firing, the young gunner shrieking as he ran. His shots were wild, out of focus, his processor whirring too fast to think, too fast to shoot properly. They impacted the dust, the ground, the rocks around them in dead sprays of dirt.

Sideswipe's wide blue optics stared into Soundwave's faceplates as he panted, grimacing in pain and no small amount of fear. The blue Decepticon ripped the twin's chestplates open, tearing them aside, exposing his spark chamber entirely, painfully, his spark pulsing wildly within. Soundwave met Sideswipe's wide and panicked optics with his own, Sideswipe trembling uncontrollably beneath him from pain and terror as Soundwave tilted his helm, slightly to the side. He reached into Sideswipe's chest, gripping the twin's spark chamber in his large hand, and squeezed.

Sideswipe arched off the ground, hand still pinned beneath Soundwave's foot as the pain, pain he'd never, ever felt before, exploded, fracturing across his entire body, his entire processor, his entire soul. His mouthplates stretched wide, silently screaming as he forced too much input through his vocalizer. His spark chamber crumbled, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces within Soundwave's massive hand, beneath his red and surging optics.

Bluestreak faltered, falling to the ground with a gasping cry, a wail. He pushed himself upwards onto his elbows, stretching his rifle out in front of him as he prepared to fire, drawing his vents in ragged cycles, in and out, again and again. He focused on Soundwave, on the Decepticon still crushing the spark of his best friend, and inhaled once more.

Bluestreak fired, a single shot followed by a succession of shots, never stopping in his fire. His second impacted Soundwave's shoulderjoint, his upper arm, finally freeing Sideswipe's crushed and destroyed spark chamber, his dieing and fatally damaged spark, from Soundwave's crushing grip. Soundwave's hand was burned, nearly fully through, the imprint of the spark written across his entire palm. He shuddered, falling backwards roughly, off balance as Smokescreen joined Bluestreak's fire. Astrotrain beckoned, calling Soundwave over the battlenet to flee, to rise up and join Starscream and the fleeing, retreating Decepticons. Soundwave glanced upwards, seeing the human Army personnel fly their helicopters finally over the battlefield, machine guns spitting out rounds of bullets and rockets streaking brilliant after Starscream's retreating forms.

Soundwave stared down into Sideswipe's agonized, screaming faceplates as he moved away, ducking to avoid any more shots. Now, the twin knew how it felt; not Sideswipe, his agony was personal. Sunstreaker, the golden frontliner, the red Lambo's twin, knew how it felt to lose his split spark. That was their pain, their punishment, for what he had done. Both Lambo's would soon know what it felt to die.

-

Jazz dragged himself forwards with his one, half functioning arm, dragging his nearly offline and mangled body across the shockingly too familiar pebble beach. The remains of the Quintesson shuttle were scattered for miles, their impact stretching and crashing through the atmosphere in a long unbroken arc, finally plummeting through the forests surrounding the beach, breaking trees and shredding open their shuttle entirely. The Quintesson warship had shattered, exploded around their own shuttle, the force of the fireball pushing them outwards, sending them tumbling end over end through space, and Primusly, towards Earth. Skyfire's explosion, his own stolen rockets obliterating around him, had pulled them down, pulled them deeper towards the planet, pushing and pulling and tumbling them both out of control in their perfect, terrible crash.

Jazz had been ejected from the shuttle first, the bulkhead closest to him ripped away and himself sucked out from within. Prowl lay inside longer, as the shuttle crashed along the beach, finally half ejecting as the last, tattered remnants came to rest in the bobbing, lapping waves. Prowl's upper half lay spread on the pebble beach, gentle azure waves tickling and licking his armor in soft caresses, legs still twisted upwards as his body stretched half in and half out from the mangled shuttle pieces.

Jazz pulled himself forwards, one arm dragging his whole body as he dug into the pebbles, dug down to heft himself forward, inch by terrible inch. Prowl didn't move, didn't online his optics, didn't make a sound. Jazz knew, through their bond, that Prowl was still there, still alive, though barely. He was hanging on by a thread, a spark tendril, still desperately reaching out for Jazz across their bond, across their surging, overpowered and shared sparks.

He finally reached the waters edge, the warm salty water lapping up into his faceplates and splashing into his mouthplates. He spat, the water simply receding and returning, impacting him again. He drew forward, pushing onwards until he was half chestplates deep, and next to Prowl.

Jazz leaned his forehead, his helm, against Prowl's chestplates, panting heavily in exhaustion from his exertion. How he had traveled, dragging himself and his broken body, leaking energon in a long, unbroken arc from where he had landed, he didn't know. Something had pulled him, pushed him to Prowl, demanding he expend everything, every last bit of himself, to reach his bonded.

Jazz grunted and reached upwards, tugging on Prowl's hipplates, trying to pull the broken body of his bonded out from the gaping hole in the shuttle's side. Prowl's doorwings were twisted and mangled, one nearly shorn off at the hinges from the stresses of the impact. Jazz pulled again, trying to topple the Enforcer out onto him, to bring him fully into his arms.

"You know," Jazz began, still grunting and hoarse from the damage and exertion. "When I first saw this beach, I wanted to bring you to it." Jazz tugged one last time, hard, grunting as he pushed his own self upwards as hard as he could, as far as he could, for more leverage against Prowl's own body. Finally, Prowl shifted, his armor plating caught on a torn lip of deck plating, sliding downwards and with gravity to tumble out of the shuttle and splash down into the surf, nearly on top of Jazz.

Jazz panted harder, the exertion of freeing Prowl overwhelming his already drained and taxed systems. Prowl lay still in the surf where he landed, helm tilted to the side and rolling with the gentle waves, unmoving. Finally, Jazz shifted, sliding up Prowl's side, his burned and energon covered, ruptured side, pressing his own broken body into Prowl's own. "I didn't think I'd be bringing you back here like this though," Jazz whispered as he settled in next to his bondmate, laying his helm on Prowl's shoulderjoint. "Not very good of me, I know," Jazz whispered, trailing off slowly. "I'll make it up to you…" Jazz's voice faded into a whisper as the warm waves continued to caress their frames, their bodies, gently lapping at their steadily fading sparks and consciousnesses as the silence stretched on around them, unbroken.

Jazz idly wondered in his dim processor how the battle on the far side of the world was going. Or had gone, considering he had no idea the time. Since he was still online, and the Earth was still online, alive and rotating without cataclysmic destruction raining down as Starscream had promised, he had to hope that they had been successful, that Prime and the rest of the Autobots had stopped Megatron. He had to hope.

Finally, what seemed like joors later, Jazz's optics flickered, his helm rising as he rose up to look down at Prowl. Prowl's optics were online, helm still rolled to the side and starting downwards into Jazz's faceplates. "Time to go," Prowl rasped.

Jazz smiled softly. He leaned upwards, as much as he could, his body nearly entirely offline and no longer responding to his commands. He forced himself up enough, wiggling and sliding to push his faceplates next to Prowl's, staring optic to optic with his bonded, with the love of his entire life. "I'm coming too," he whispered, leaning forwards to press his lipplates against Prowl's. "Don't leave without me," he continued, lipplates still pressed together.

The pain started in his spark, a tiny, piercing lance of pain, radiating outwards and washing him with overcoming, blinding warmth, too hot to control. It crushed him, pressing downwards, choking him and blinding him at once. It was too much, too much entirely for his tired, weary processor. Jazz exhaled against Prowl's unresponsive lipplates and slipped into the blackness.

-

Ratchet tore across the battlefield, now empty of Decepticons as they fled, racing away with Starscream as they retreated. Skywarp had collected the fallen and offline corpse of Megatron as they left, the Army's aerial pursuit doggedly chasing after the Decepticon's flight through the mountains.

Ratchet hadn't cared, not at all, for the cheering humans, the cheering mechs. He ran, racing after Wheeljack and Sunstreaker's forms. They had only left Hound's side a breem ago, but to Ratchet, the time felt like a vorn. Like a hundred vorns. He couldn't imagine, couldn't picture what lay ahead. He was too frightened of the possibilities.

It had almost been too much, too much fear and despair clouding his processor as he worked once more on Hound, on pouring more fluids and life-giving energies into the Scout. He was glad, Primusly so, that Hound had moved out of his critical stage by that time, by the time Ratchet nearly lost his focus and composure. He'd had to force himself to stay, to complete his fluid transfers and vital monitors of Hound, to ensure the Scout was functioning and would survive, before he tore off after Sunstreaker, after his lover. Wheeljack had gone, fleeing with Sunstreaker to do what he could, for whatever he found. He had told himself that again and again, over and over.

Ratchet stumbled, long, white legs propelling him forward as he righted himself, catching the ground and running again. He cycled air in and out, faster and faster, as he crested the smaller hill, the small valley dividing the main valley, a dry creek bed snaking through the dirt packed ground between the ridges.

His spark fluttered at what he saw. Smokescreen was holding Bluestreak back, a screaming, arms outstretched, raging Bluestreak, pushing with all of his might against Smokescreen's hold. Hot Rod and Kup, standing side-by-side, rifles lowered and faceplates grim, Blaster behind them both. Ironhide, mouthplates open and optics ringed with shock, staring downwards. All of them, staring downwards to something Ratchet still couldn't see.

_Where was Sunstreaker? Wheeljack? _ His spark lurched, creaking under the stress as he kept moving, kept running, tearing down the hill and racing around the last, rocky outcropping.

There, in the hard packed dirt, lay the answers. Wheeljack knelt down, hands fluttering uselessly as he searched, struggled for the answer, the answer he didn't, couldn't have. Beneath him lay the twins, arms locked around the other's frame in a firm, tight hold, Sunstreaker's chestplates ripped open and torn away to match Sideswipe's own mangled and destroyed ones.

Ratchet froze, only shakily moving forward after a long moment, after his audials finally started registering Bluestreak's screams again, after he heard, too clearly, the whirr of the rotors above, the far off pierce of bullets, the wind whistling faintly through the valley. His optics sharpened, taking in the exact length and curve of Sunstreaker's leg, his fierce grip on Sideswipe, the way his hands curled into fists behind his brother's backplating. His optics roamed, finally seeing, finally, the steadily graying color settling over both formerly bright hued twins.

-


	19. Epilogue

Crash Into You

Epilogue

* * *

_**Six Orns Later**_

Wheeljack sighed and rolled his neck collum, the joints stiff from the awkward bending and the contortions of his body as he worked. His internal chronometer beeped; it was time to quit for the cycle.

The large door of the Ark's hanger slid open slowly, three of the Aerialbots returning, once again, as they did each cycle at this time to collect their leader, to collect Silverbolt.

"'Bolt?" Slingshot's nervous, little vocalizer broke the silence of the hanger deck that had settled between Silverbolt and Wheeljack while the two worked, nearly all cycle, in silence.

Silverbolt started, so entirely absorbed within his project he didn't hear the hanger doors and hadn't heard the soft footsteps of his teammates. He inhaled deeply, finally allowing his concentration to break and for the flood of his teammates feelings to pour back over his spark. Silverbolt met Wheeljack's optics across the deck briefly. "See you next cycle?" Silverbolt asked as he did each and every cycle at this time.

Wheeljack nodded, audial fins briefly flashing as he straightened from his crouch, cables squeaking and protesting from his prolonged immobility on the decking floor. He began to collect his spread out tools, scattered around his former working position as Silverbolt moved across the deck to rejoin his three flyers.

Slingshot and Air Raid smiled wide as Silverbolt joined him without fuss, seemingly calm and, if not happy, not depressed either. It hadn't been that way in the beginning, back when Wheeljack had first begun working in the hanger deck, two orns after their battle with the Decepticons. Skydive stood slightly apart from the two more rambunctious flyers, though still distinctly pleased to see Silverbolt again. The three flyers reached out, hands touching the armor plating on his arms, chestplates, shoulderjoints, physically touching their leader in reassurance and love.

"Ready for some energon?" Air Raid asked, hope and excitement not hidden at all within his vocalizer.

"Fireflight says he'll come up and join us," Skydive added before Silverbolt could answer.

Silverbolt glanced to Skydive, slight surprise coloring his optics. He nodded, small smile stretching over his lipplates as he started forwards once more, moving off the hanger deck and towards the large doors.

"Maybe we could go flying after our energon!" Slingshot blurted out, excitement obvious in his bouncing steps. Air Raid grinned, though reached out to smack his brother as Skydive shook his helm with long suffering patience.

Silverbolt turned at the doorway, just as the group walked out, glancing back behind him to roam his optics one last time, just he did each and every cycle, over the fractured form of Skyfire, broken pieces of the large shuttle scattered over the hanger decking. Wheeljack met his optics briefly before the Concorde sighed and rejoined his now silent and waiting teammates in the hallway.

Wheeljack finished tucking his tools away haphazardly, his own order not nearly as neat as Ratchet's. He turned, gazing down over Skyfire's broken form once more as he rested his tired hands on his hipplates.

Skyfire's breaking of protocol had astonished them all. He'd cut his comms with Prime, with Red Alert, and dove down to Starscream just after the Seeker's incredible overthrow and offlining of Megatron. He'd seized the rockets, the missiles, the entire objective of the Autobot's and human Army personnel's forward objectives. The Autobots were to grapple with the Decepticons, the infantry and artillery supporting the giant Autobot fighters, while the air cover attempted to breach the Decepticon control of the skies in order to reach those rockets.

Skyfire had changed their entire battle plans, acting on his own to grab the missiles himself, fleeing the battle and rising up to save the entire planet.

Starscream had chased after him, naturally enraged at the shuttle's actions. What else had passed between them as they climbed higher and higher, Wheeljack didn't know. Their history, the fractured, shadowy history between Skyfire and Starscream was still kept locked away and hidden inside the large shuttle. He never spoke about it, never spoke about his time with Starscream or his explorations in the past, with any of the Autobots. That left some confused feelings within some of the more paranoid of their Autobots, Cliffjumper, Huffer and Red Alert not going out of their way to befriend the large shuttle.

Wheeljack had always liked Skyfire though, always enjoyed his friendship and camaraderie in the labs, while working together. He considered Skyfire a friend, and hearing about his sacrifice after the battle had left another painful burn in his spark, after so much else of the battle had as well, too much so to think about.

They had all assumed Skyfire had perished, vaporized in the massive explosions far, far above the earth. They hadn't searched for him at all, which turned out to have been a mistake.

An Army base in Alaska had scrambled their search planes, sent out a rescue team and a strike team after they saw the streaking lights cascading down through the sky, breaking apart the aurora borealis with its fiery trails lighting up the sky. They hadn't known what to expect when they got there, and nor did the hundreds of human households who called 911, reporting an asteroid strike, an invasion or the end of the world. Instead, they found the decapitated torso of an overlarge Cybertronian shuttle, white armor blackened from reentry, arms and legs ripped off, red wings torn, stretched, destroyed. Miles away, in the wilderness, they finally found his helm his optics cold and offline.

When Prime and Wheeljack had heard, they hadn't believed. It couldn't happen again, not again. They'd shared an unbelieving look for a long moment while the Army personnel finally took over, seeking more information from the base commander in Alaska. Unbelievably, their scans, their primitive human technology, was still detecting a surging pulse of power within his chest cavity. They truly hadn't believed.

First Aid and Hoist were already away, already far away from the Army firebase in Afghanistan where they all had remained, slowly packing and planning on returning to the Ark. Ratchet couldn't, wouldn't go, and they didn't bother asking. Wheeljack had boarded the next Air Force flight back to America, a long, unnaturally long flight across Europe, stopping in Germany, then England, then Texas, before finally making it up to Alaska and to Skyfire.

Skyfire's stubborn insistence on holding onto the rocket launchers and refusing to let go to spite Starscream in their last argument, had saved his life. They launcher fractured apart first, pushing him downwards and away from the piercing explosion of the nuclear weapons and sending him hurtling through the atmosphere in his destructive descent. His arms, legs and other appendages were shorn away, destroyed on reentry as his processor offlined and he plummeted far too fast, through all the layers of the Earth's skies, and crashed in the wilderness of Alaska again.

Wheeljack privately thought they should rename the giant shuttle the Ice Monster since he seemed to have an unconscious affinity for crashing into the ice. He thought often, while he worked to reattach Skyfire's helm and repair his torn, burned, destroyed internals, about how he would tell Skyfire of his renaming, how they would joke about his actions and his second entombment within the arctic ice.

Silverbolt had started helping Wheeljack silently back on the Ark, each of them lost within the memories of their friendship with the giant shuttle. Nearly everything had to be replaced within the shuttle, nearly all lines, all cables, all circuits. The task was immense, incredible, and Wheeljack was more than happy to have the help and assistance.

All the while, Skyfire's spark hummed, keeping the giant shuttle alive and in stasis, unbelievably, beneath their repairs.

***^***

Fireflight slipped through the heavy door of the brig, optics surging to compensate for the harsh blackness their prisoner preferred within.

Red optics surged as well, onlining within his cell near the door as he rose from his awkward position lying on the simple brig berth. "Fireflight?" a deep, tired voice spoke.

"I brought you something," Fireflight whispered, his small voice still overloud within the brig. He reached into his subspace, pulling out a large, polished smooth lava rock, a deep, inky, shiny, black, silky underneath his fingertips.

Thundercracker inhaled deeply, cables and joints audibly clicking as he pulled himself up from his berth, crossing the two small steps across his cell in front of his brig bars before he slid down, hands gripping the bars as he dipped down to a seated position, weariness covering his entire body.

Fireflight met him at the bars, stooping low to sit as well, directly opposite of Thundercracker's deeply exhausted form. Thundercracker's helm leaned forward, resting against the inside of the bars as he gazed up into Fireflight's optics.

"Here," Fireflight whispered, handing the lava rock through the bars to Thundercracker. Their hands met briefly as Fireflight set the rock within Thundercracker's palm, fingers dragging over Thundercracker's larger ones as his hand withdrew back between the bars.

Thundercracker sighed, twirling the rock between his fingers slowly. "Thank you," He whispered back to Fireflight, optics still playing over the rock within his hands. He turned to his side, to the cell wall to his right, and set the rock down amidst a long line of treasures and gifts Fireflight had brought to him, one a day for the four orns he had been locked within the brig on the Ark. Dried flowers, rocks, seashells, small cacti, broken children's toys, and one, tiny toy jet sat in a long row. He added the lava rock to the end, setting it down gently.

"How was the air this cycle?" Thundercracker whispered, turning back to Fireflight and resting his helm against the bars once more.

Fireflight stared into Thundercracker's faceplates before answering. Their optics mingled, joined red and blue light the only illumination within the dark brig, their faceplates leaned close together and only separated by the brigs bars. "Wonderful," Fireflight breathed. "No turbulence. I caught a thermal near the canyon edge, rode it for almost a thousand feet."

Thundercracker sighed heavily, longing and imagining in his breath. He hadn't flown, not once, since his horrible, terrible crash, his attack on Fireflight, and his pointed, keen desire to offline under the younger flyer's lasers.

He remembered crashing, remembered the feeling of falling, of being entirely and utterly powerless to stop his thundering descent. He couldn't remember hearing anything though, just saw the too-fast advance of the trees and the ground beneath him, the hillside he was steadily plunging into. He didn't remember any pain, not then. Not until much, much later.

His optics had onlined finally later, much later, the sounds of battle faded far away. His spark, normally so full of not just his own feelings, but Skywarp's as well, was empty, silent. He had wondered, for an astrosecond, if he was dead, if he was in the Matrix, before the pain had set in. That, he figured, had to mean he wasn't. Had to mean he was alive, albeit barely, and painfully. His frame was shredded, armor plating gone in areas, ripped apart from his crash. One wing was gone, entirely, ripped away from his frame. Energon leaked from his body nearly all over.

He had snorted to himself, mocking himself in his utter failures in everything. In his life, in his pursuit of the Decepticons. In his bond, in his relationships, and now, in dieing. How could one fail and being a failure?

He was lying, panting while his breath and vents hitched, waiting and waiting for the final moments and to offline as the sky darkened steadily around him. A flyer began circling overhead, flying in wide, low circles over the mountainside, the forest, narrowing down until they were just above his frame. In the darkness, he couldn't see, couldn't tell if it was a Seeker, a human jet, or, Primus forbid, an Aerialbot. All he could do was wait.

The sound of a transformation, deep within the trees where the flyer had managed to land confirmed it wasn't a human jet, but he still didn't know if he was facing a Decepticon or an Autobot. He couldn't be sure which would be more angry to see him.

Fireflight's exhausted and pained faceplates had appeared over his own, gripping down in his frame and one of his hands in a too tight grip. Thundercracker hadn't been able to speak, his vocalizer too weak and his panting exhalations too quick to allow him to try. His optics shimmered, trying to ask what he couldn't voice as Fireflight continued to stare down at him.

"You told me we never die alone," Fireflight whispered, vocalizer ragged but still so young, so painfully young. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

Thundercracker didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Fireflight's mercy, his kindness, his friendship, not after what he had done, and everything he had become. He didn't deserve anything except to be left alone on the mountainside and in the forest, to die, slowly and alone. He had tried to break Fireflight's hold on his hand, tried to shake his helm, but his body wouldn't respond, wouldn't let him break this one contact on another mech, a chance to live.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Thundercracker," Fireflight had whispered, pinging back to the Autobot base, his brothers, and to Wheeljack, finally clueing them all into where he had disappeared to only joor after the battle had concluded. "You're going to be alright," he continued on, several klicks later. "I promise."

The passion, the burn in Fireflight's optics, the conviction behind his words, had seated within Thundercracker's processor. He gripped back, finally, on Fireflight's hand, holding on tightly until Wheeljack, Hoist, Silverbolt, and the rest of the Aerialbot's arrived.

His recovery had been long, and painful. Ratchet had stabilized him, then left him alone, returning to reconstruct and reattach his wing only two orns ago, and most of his confinement in the brig had been spent with only one wing. It was odd, being clipped, being incapable of flight, but he didn't dwell on it. The darkness surrounded him, consumed him, welcomed him. It prevented him from thinking, from realizing, from feeling the complete isolation he was now swimming in, cut off entirely from his bonded, from his trine, and from Skywarp.

He didn't know what had happened to them. Fireflight related the end of the battle to him, the parts he had missed, but he still didn't know, couldn't imagine, where Starscream would go. He told Prime all that he could during their infrequent conversations in the medbay. Thundercracker was strapped down to the berth initially, then allowed to remain on the berth under guard alone, but it wasn't much freedom, just as it wasn't much info. Starscream hadn't trusted him with much, not his plans, not his thoughts. Clearly he was a failure as a defector as well.

Thundercracker existed nearly entirely in the past few orns for Fireflight's visits each cycle. The flyer visited him every single cycle, sometimes more than once. He waited, vents cycling in and out, waiting for the heavy brig door to click open and the small flyer to slide in. He hadn't changed his paintjob back yet, refusing to alter the paint that Sunstreaker had applied himself, which made his shadowy form bleed into the background, blue optics nearly disembodied at the doorway until they sat before each other in the same place every time he came.

"You need to get out of here, Thundercracker," Fireflight whispered. "I'm sure Prime would let you fly with me, or with my brothers." He sighed, frowning as he stared at Thundercracker's weakening form. "You're dieing."

Thundercracker shook his helm slowly. "I can't, Fireflight." He bit down on his lipplates, chewing them between his denta. "I don't trust myself."

Fireflight stared at Thundercracker's faceplates, worry and pain stretched across his features. "Do you… do you want to go back to the Decepticons?" he finally asked hesitantly.

Thundercracker met Fireflight's optics, staring into them with too much shame emanating form within. "I don't know." His vocalizer was soft, too soft, words barely breathed out in a shaking, halting whisper.

Fireflight's comm broke the silence of the brig suddenly. "Hey Fireflight! 'Bolt's here and we're on the way to the Rec Room! You coming?" Air Raid's happy voice tore thorough their shared silence and darkness.

Fireflight sighed before he responded. "I'm coming, Air Raid. I'll be right up."

Air Raid paused, heavily, continuing instead of cutting off the line. "How is he?" he finally asked.

Fireflight tilted his helm, staring into Thundercracker's optics for a long moment before he answered. Thundercracker stared back, not speaking. "Tired," Fireflight finally answered simply.

Silence filled the comm line once more. "Maybe…" Air Raid began haltingly. "Maybe some of us can come with you next time. If he wants. If he wont kill us."

Fireflight smiled, chuckling softly. Thundercracker's lipplates twitched, a tiny smile spreading across his faceplates briefly. Fireflight caught it, and smiled wider. "Maybe," he replied fondly back to his brother, affection surging within his spark for his brothers. He cut the commline then, turning his attention fully back to Thundercracker.

"You should go," Thundercracker said, helm moving up the bars as he bobbed his helm upwards, once.

Fireflight searched Thundercracker's faceplates before he reached back through the bars, small hands gripping down on Thundercracker's own tightly. "I'll be back later," he whispered fondly.

Thundercracker's lipplates stretched into a small smile as he nodded back to the young flyer.

***^***

"Dump that piece of slag out the airlock." Starscream's vocalizer was hard as he turned to Soundwave on the command deck of Shockwave's freighter. Megatron's cold, offline body still rested within their cargo bay, untouched since being dumped onboard after Starscream led the Decepticons up to the moon, fleeing Earth.

Astrotrain had shuttled the Decepticon's that didn't have the necessary space mods to exist within the cold, harsh vacuum of space, shuttling them back and forth from their tiny hideout after finally losing the pursuing Army personnel from the battlefield. Starscream had found the freighter where Jazz and Prowl had planned to park it, safe and offline on the surface of the moon, entirely ready for his own takeover.

The secret was out on Earth. The world governments that knew, that had known previously about the Cybertronians among them, could no longer keep the secret of the great hulking machines living on their planet. The Autobots were hailed as heroes, as planet saving intergalactic heroes. Most governments dedicated themselves to hunting and punishing the Decepticons as well, not allowing their safe haven within their borders, and their militaries searched and hunted through the countries for any trace of the Decepticon factions hiding on Earth.

Not everyone loved the Autobots though; a seed group, an angry, paranoid group of humans, entirely frustrated and overcome with anger over the hidden Cybertronians living among them, were growing louder in their displeasure.

Soundwave turned from the piloting controls to face Starscream fully. He had effortlessly broken orbit, taking the freighter finally from the moon's surface, and setting their course back to Cybertron. Starscream had taken his time, collecting the salvageable bits of the Decepticon bases, mini outposts and equipment dumps before the humans tore through their technology. Astrotrain needed time as well, time to transfer and shuttle the mechs with Blast Off up to the moon. Now though, it was time to leave, time to travel back to Cybertron and take his rightful place of the leader of the Decepticons across the universe.

Soundwave nodded, once, then sent his silent orders to his Cassettes, Rumble and Ravage down below guarding the corpse in silence. They would transport the body to the airlock, dumping him out into space in the middle of the spacebridge tunnel jump, leaving his corpse to float in the depths of space alone.

Starscream's cold optics burned into Soundwave's own. They two officers had come to an unspoken arrangement, Soundwave remaining as the 3IC, useful to carrying out Starscream's orders and providing an additional legitimacy to Starscream's seizure of leadership. Starscream still didn't trust him fully though.

Finally, Starscream turned, silently walking off the command deck and turning into the private side anteroom. As the doors slid closed, his optics fixed on his new 2IC, the shadowy form of his trinemate standing silently in front of the tall window, legs spread wide as he bracketed himself before the expansive starfield.

"Enough of this, Skywarp," Starscream spat out, crossing quickly across the deck to stand behind his remaining trinemate. "Cut it out of your spark!"

Skywarp shuddered, inhaling raggedly as Starscream stopped behind him. The pain hadn't receded, not at all, not even a slight, tiny amount, since the battle. Since Thundercracker had wrested himself from their bond, from their sparks, crashing and offlining in a horrible attack from Fireflight. He hated, purely and entirely, the young Aerialbot, the mech he had almost begun to trust because of Thundercracker back on Cybertron.

"It hurts!" Skywarp hissed back to Starscream, not turning from his gaze out to the stars.

Starscream didn't say anything, faceplates twisting to a frown. Finally, he stepped forward, well into Skywarp's personal space, blue hands slowly rising to drag his fingers lightly across Skywarp's wing edge. "It always will," he whispered. "You **must** take control." Starscream gripped down at the edge of Skywarp's wings, at his tips, as Skywarp shuddered again. "Cut it out of your spark."

Skywarp trembled, the pain overwhelming his spark even as it surged, reaching back for Starscream and for the intimacy they had finally fallen into, clinging to each other in their sudden, complete aloneness. "I'll end up like you, wont I?" Skywarp whispered, leaning backward slightly into Starscream's touch upon his wings.

Starscream lifted his helm, staring into the back of Skywarp's helm. He hated, and nearly loved, his trinemate. Nothing would replace the hole, the gaping, still bleeding hole within his spark where Skyfire had lived for his entire life. Before his death. Before his offlining. He refused to play over the memories, refused to let the feelings and emotions out from his spark. Refused to accept responsibility for their lives and for the course of their failing union.

But this, Skywarp, was a balm against all of that. Starscream leaned forward, his mouthplates close to Skywarp's audial as he stretched over the purple Seeker's wings. "You'll never hurt again," he whispered before leaning back and stepping away as Skywarp shuddered throughout his entire frame.

"There's another unending, unstoppable source of power, Skywarp," Starscream began again, referencing back to the beginning of their entire mission, their entire, convoluted mission that had sparked the rending of their entire world. "Seize the pain. Make it your **own.**"

Skywarp lowered his helm, optics flickering as his lipplates trembled. He never, never before, would have shown this weakness, this pain, to Starscream. However, Starscream's own pain had surged forth, beating and breaking out of his spark, the fullness of his feelings and history, previously only hinted at, finally exploding across their bond. They clung to one another, lonely and alone, hurting and in agony, cut off entirely and completely from the mechs that they could never, ever have again.

"I need you. **Here**." Starscream continued. "I need you, Skywarp." He backed away slowly, turning away from his last trinemate and finally breaking his burning gaze, his optics dragging away from the back of Skywarp's helm and wings. "Make your decision," Starscream spat over his shoulderjoint as he turned, striding out of the anteroom and away from Skywarp once again.

Skywarp couldn't stop the trembling that had settled over his frame, couldn't stop the wracking shudders and sobs that descended on his processor. He had wanted, for so long, to hear Starscream's vocalizer saying those words, to feel his trinemate's presence within his spark, to feel his wings and frame on top of his form. He had never thought it would come about like this though, amidst too much pain.

Skywarp lifted his shaking hand to the window, streaking his fingers lightly across the cool surface, blocking out so many far off stars from his sight. "TC," he whispered, agonizingly. "I love you too…"

***^***

Wheeljack tiredly padded down the hallway, one hand rubbing the back of his neck collum as he approached the doors of the Rec Room. Loud laughing burst suddenly from within, the Ark finally pulling itself back into the normality of its routine, of its life. Wheeljack smiled as he palmed open the door, optics sweeping across the room.

The Aerialbots lounged in the corner, Fireflight smiling with his teammates as they surrounded Silverbolt. Wheeljack smiled towards the Concorde as he entered, optics shifting around the Rec Room once more, falling on the minibots, minus Bumblebee, laughing and cajoling a blushing Bluestreak. Hound and Mirage rested against one of the couches, Mirage's optics still traveling over Hound's form with regularity, still convincing himself that Hound was there, was alright and was fully functional. It had taken a Primusly long time to extract and extricate the nuclear weapons and peripheral attachments Hook and Scrapper had attached throughout his internals. Mirage had hovered, entirely, over Hound throughout his recovery, the tables now turned within the two bondmates. Normally, Mirage was the one in danger, Mirage, the spy, was the one Hound was hovering over worriedly.

Hound basked in the attention and in Mirage's complete and total devotion and concern. He allowed it all with a smile brimming with emotion, long suffering and accepting as he gently teased Mirage back over his mother-henning, his care and concern. Mirage was unapologetic and unashamed of his smothering.

Wheeljack continued glancing around, optics finally landing on the smiling faceplates of Prowl, relaxing against the other couch in the Rec Room, data pad resting in his lap.

Skyfire's survival was incredible, and entirely unexpected, but nothing compared to the survival of Prowl and Jazz. Their crash, their entirely devastating crash, had nearly shorn their bodies apart at the seams, lines and internals fractured and ruptured, energon leaking over the pebble beach they had crashed upon and floating in the gently laping ocean waves. Their crash had nearly destroyed them, but it had also nearly destroyed the tropical forest surrounding the beach, alerting the villagers for miles of something dangerous, something unusual, something terrifying and unnatural upon their beach.

Once again, the humans thought they were being invaded, being attacked, asteroids or aliens plummeting to their world. They flooded through the forest, spooked faces and eyes stunned at the sight of the dieing, clutching together Autobots in the waves.

Naturally, they assumed the US government must know something about this, and the Mayor of the local village had called Mexico City, Mexico's President immediately contacted the US President, who instantly contacted the Pentagon. The Pentagon, already rocking under the revelations of the Autobot forces to the public, sent the information along to Prime and their joint strike forces in Afghanistan.

Prime, Wheeljack, and Red Alert had been trying to gather their forces, trying to clean up and patch up what they could, the battle still nearly just over. Wheeljack had just returned from Fireflight's impromptu rescue of Thundercracker and had just sedated the Seeker and begun to repair and replace his internal lines when the call came through from Trailbreaker, still working with the human personnel to share information. His vocalizer had been unbelieving, nearly laughing with disbelief.

Prime didn't laugh. Not at all.

He immediately ordered First Aid and Hoist out of Afghanistan, the Army providing a private, personal charter plane for the two Autobot medics racing against time to find their missing, injured officers. SPC Jackson, back at their firebase and waiting for his teammates to return with 'Bee and Hound, had hopped on the satellite comm instantly, speaking in broken, halting Spanish with a local mechanic and tried to instruct the highly confused and nervous local in some patch repairs of Prowl and Jazz, similar to the roughshod repairs he had performed on Trailbreaker.

The mechanics had clamped and secured enough leaking energon lines to preserve the tiny, lingering bits of energon still in their frames, enough to continue fueling their spark chambers with the life giving fluid until First Aid and Hoist were able to tear onto the beach. The locals hadn't moved the hulking machines, not physically able to drag them move than a few feet higher on to the beach and out of the waves, though separating and rolling them to their backs, only a few feet apart.

When First Aid and Hoist finally arrived, Prowl and Jazz had already interlocked their fingers, hands gripping each other's in a firm hold.

As best as the two medic's could understand, and after lengthy conferences with Ratchet, when the medic was able to speak, the joined and united sparks of Prowl and Jazz with Pax and Switch had intensified and lengthened, stretching out wide beneath their joined life forces. Both Pax and Switch had surged within the two Autobots during their attack on the Quintessons, taking over in small, hidden ways, merging fluidly with their own life-forces in a full and complete way, as they had only done so few times before; when spark merging, when bonding and when the two had joined life-forces in the past, strengthening not only their own bond, but Pax and Switch's finally realized bond as well.

The two ancient Cybertronians took over, subsuming the spark energy of Prowl and Jazz deep within, absorbing the damage and pain of their injuries and the crash entirely. They claimed control, allowing themselves to perish first, to expire before Prowl and Jazz's sparks finally broke free to take control once again.

They were still wounded, fatally so, mortally so, still clinging to the edge of death, but their joined sparks expired in sequence. Pax and Switch's sacrifice for the mechs that had carried them, allowed them to finally live and love again and to protect their home from the Quintessons once more. It allowed them a bare, slim chance to survive. Beneath all of that, there was something else, something unidentified, pulsing deep within as well.

After they had been stabilized, energon flooding their frames in a trembling field transfer under disbelieving optics and the shaking hands of Hoist and First Aid, Prowl, Jazz, Hoist and First Aid were the first mechs back to the Ark, back to the medbay, where they stayed in near stasis as the slow repairs began.

Wheeljack had taken over with First Aid, letting Hoist resume his work with Grapple as they worked to restore Jazz and Prowl back to health. Each night cycle, after Jazz's motor circuits were repaired and his backstruts able to hold his weight once more, he had shuffled across the medbay in his unconscious state, curling up around Prowl's still unconscious and healing form on the medberth next to him. Each new cycle found Wheeljack dragging Jazz back to his berth with First Aid, settling him back into his sensor monitors and fluid drips for the cycle before Jazz made his nightly escape again and again.

Ratchet, emerging from his own fog briefly, had finally helped Wheeljack push Jazz's berth next to Prowl's, resetting their sensor monitors and fluids together to allow the two mechs to physically recover together, their physical presence comforting and reassuring each other across their bonds.

Slowly, they recovered. Wheeljack fondly remembered, nearly as the best moment of his life, the cycle Jazz had finally onlined, his optics searching around the Ark's medbay in confusion and disbelief before settling on Wheeljack's form.

"How do you feel, Jazz?" Wheeljack had asked, smiling softly at the Saboteur.

Jazz had stared at Wheeljack for a long, hard moment before his faceplates burst into a wide, beautiful smile, optics surging up to Wheeljack and his oft repeated question. "I'm great, Wheeljack," Jazz had croaked, vocalizer harsh from disuse and cracking under his joy. "I'm great."

Jazz had turned his helm back to stare upwards at Prowl's still unconscious, though healing, body next to him, continuing to smile as his optics offlined and he sighed, heavily, thankfully, spark blooming under his too strong emotions. Wheeljack's audial fins lit brightly, lingering on as he stared down at the two officers fondly. Jazz had fallen back offline moments later, still recharging and resting as their repairs took hold, but well on the road to recovery.

Prowl's optics met Wheeljack's in the Rec Room as the Enforcer smiled up to the inventor, to the mech that had saved his life, along with First Aid and Hoist. He inhaled suddenly, his smile shifting to something more private, more intimate, and Wheeljack recognized the look within Prowl's optics that settled deep inside the indigo illumination when he was communicating with his bondmate.

::Where are ya, lover?:: Jazz's gentle, teasing voice and presence filled Prowl's processor.

::In the Rec Room.:: Prowl had spent far more time in the Rec Room, both with and without Jazz since his recovery, socializing lightly with the rest of the mechs on the Ark and breaking his former isolation as the 2IC. Jazz wasn't entirely sure if it was the after effects of their injuries and brush with death or somehow a merge of their own personalities over their bond that had brought out the more social aspects of his mate. Jazz himself noticed his own personality slightly shifting. His office, his work, was more organized, his reports now completed and submitted to Prime before their deadlines. Prime had stared knowingly at him the last three times it had occurred, his optics smiling and shining at his 3IC and friend.

::I'm on my way, lover.:: Jazz affectionately brushed against Prowl's spark before pulling back, offlining the terminal within his office and rising to join his bondmate.

***^***

Ratchet sighed heavily in his office as he rubbed his palm over his tired, weary faceplates. He was exhausted, all the time, these cycles.

Sparks were crazy, insane things. He'd never before understood spark bonds, never before thought much about the desires and motivations that would pull two mechs to want to unite their processors in one joined unit. As a medic, it was too stressful treating those bonded mechs, having to struggle to save both lives even if only one were injured.

The same had been true for vorns between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, the twins united sparks bonded from their creation, twin formed and forged together. He'd entirely too frustratedly worked on one badly injured twin as the other lay in stasis nearby, waiting on Ratchet's care to determine their joined survival.

Ratchet had never, ever before desired to spark bond with any mech, to unite himself permanently to a lover, to tie his existence to their own. When he saw, horribly, the graying, fading frame of Sunstreaker laying on his side and gripping tight to his brother, he had instantly understood the motivations, the desires and the urge to bond. He understood the gnawing emptiness that surviving bonded mechs spoke of, after their bonded offlined, themselves usually following after shortly to join their bonded within the Matrix. He understood entirely, feeling the ache and agony settle over his spark as he stared at Sunstreaker's body.

He had known Sunstreaker for vorns, fought with him viciously, then cared for him, struggling to understand and bring out the reclusive, angry warrior from his self imposed isolation before falling too deeply for him. He'd shared that emotion, that unacknowledged, too deeply felt feelings, the burning, unbridled passion, with Sunstreaker for three cycles, three perfect cycles, before it all came crashing down around him.

He understood, perfectly and entirely. He wanted in that moment to lie down next to Sunstreaker and will his armor to turn grey himself, to hold fast to his lover, his love, and fade away, to allow the pain and anger and rage to consume him entirely. He wanted his spark to be intimately and perfectly tied to Sunstreaker's own, to not have to continue on without him.

Wheeljack had had to shake him from his plummeting, plunging spark, hissing frantically into his audial and shattering the black, descending cloud over his processor. "They're **dieing**, Ratchet. They're not dead yet!"

Ratchet had snapped, broken entirely and focused solely on Sunstreaker. He'd thrown himself down to their sides, scanners, sensors and tools flying, trying to absorb everything, every tiny thing happening between the twins.

Sideswipe's spark chamber and spark had been destroyed, crushed within Soundwave's raging revenge and overlarge palm. Sunstreaker had come upon his twin, shaking and trembling and struggling to breath, to inhale, as his engine seized and the energon spat out into his chest cavity out of the line that had formerly fed his spark chamber. Sunstreaker hadn't paused, throwing himself down next to Sideswipe as he chucked his rifle and began to tear open his chestplates.

Sideswipe had stared up into Sunstreaker's terrified optics, his own faceplates trembling with agony as he panted, knowing that his death would drag Sunstreaker down with him. "I'm sorry…" he had whispered, shaking. "I'm so sorry, Sunny…"

"Shut up!" Sunstreaker had screamed, shouted down to Sideswipe as he tore his chestplates away, uncaring about his paint or brilliance at all, only caring for Sideswipe. "Just shut up!"

Sunstreaker's spark chamber forcibly clicked open as he leaned down, grasping Sideswipe and pulling him into his arms, falling sideways and screaming as their chests had connected. Sideswipe shrieked, a pained, terrible sound erupting from his vocalizer as Sunstreaker's spark surged within his broken chest cavity. Sideswipe's systems had pulled, grasping at Sunstreaker's identical spark, recognizing it as his, as the duplicate and dual spark forged at the same moment of his own. It surged, pushing against Sideswipe's broken systems and uniting with his processor, working to power Sideswipe, working, struggling to keep both twins alive.

One spark was not powerful enough to keep both mechs alive. It was barely enough to keep them both going in a minimal way, in a tiny, fractional way. Sunstreaker hadn't known, at all, what he was doing, what he could do, only knowing that he had to try to save Sideswipe. He trusted, relied on Ratchet to figure out his mess, if he survived, as Ratchet always had.

Ratchet however had no clue, no idea how to proceed, how to fix the barely alive mechs clinging to each other and sharing one spark. Pulling them apart would send Sideswipe plummeting again, dragging Sunstreaker down as well, both of them offlining painfully and suddenly. He didn't know what to do. At all.

They'd moved the twins off the battlefield slowly, gently, fluids pouring into their frame, high grade medical energon forcing their systems to keep operating, though still at depressed, unnatural levels. They laid, locked together in the medical tent back at the firebase after being transported in a terrifying helicopter slingload back through the mountains, all while Ratchet was frantically going out of his processor again and again.

He thought of nothing else other than their injuries and how to separate their frames before Sunstreaker's spark extinguished in exhaustion. The key problem, the underlying issue, was Sideswipe's lack of a functioning spark chamber, any spark chamber.

Ratchet had slight flashbacks of Starscream, the ever-traitorous Seeker, as he rebuilt and forged a new spark chamber for Sideswipe. He poured everything of himself into it, begging Primus that his skills were up to the task, up to the daunting task of saving both twin's lives.

Ratchet had gone through Sideswipe's back plating, removing the red twin's armor nearly entirely and exposing his sensitive, vulnerable protoform as he installed the fabricated spark chamber back into Sideswipe's clamped energon line, leaving the chamber clicked open during the installation.

As soon as he had finished, the chamber clicked closed, automatically and without his own input, just after he unclamped the main energon line and allowed the fluids to flow through his newly created spark chamber once more. The tiny, threaded capillaries filled, thrumming with purple illumination, with the energon filling within, perfectly. Ratchet had been elated, for a moment, until the chamber clicked closed without his authorization.

It clicked shut on Sunstreaker's spark, neatly cleaving the spark in two, shattering and separating the golden warrior's spark as Sideswipe's body greedily grabbed hold, demanding an independent spark for his self. Sunstreaker had shuddered, then seized, processor plunging and vital functions dropping as his body sharply reacted to the loss of half his strong, powerful spark.

Ratchet had had to do many procedures to Sunstreaker before, many fluid transfers, many shocks through his system when Sunstreaker was badly injured and wounded in the numerous battles with the Decepticons over the vorns. He'd never had to do so knowing the intimate touch and feel of the golden twin though, never had to shock his system as he begged, pleaded with both Sunstreaker and Primus for the twin to hang on, to stay alive and online, and for Ratchet to see his shining optics and that look, his look, one more time.

The twins' bodies had still been intertwined, strapped together and immobile, which had allowed Sideswipe's new spark chamber to pulse, vibrations and tendrils of Sunstreaker's own spark stretching back to his now-closed chamber, shocking and caressing the golden warrior's chamber and stabilizing the twin as his functions regulated. They were still weak, but stable again.

Ratchet hated sparks at that moment, exhausted, frustrated, confused, worried and shaking, fearful for both twins' lives and the dual pressures on his conscience.

Remarkably, the twins had grown stronger. Ratchet's entire focus and attention had been dedicated to them, the two most massively injured from the battle. He did help and assist Wheeljack, First Aid, and Hoist with Jazz, Prowl, Hound and Skyfire briefly before returning back to the near constant monitoring of the two frontline warriors. By the time the entire Ark crew was ready to transport back to the Ark an orn after the battle, back to their home in an absolute fleet of Air Force transport planes, the twins were able to be separated, no longer needing the physical contact to keep them both online and alive.

The next orn was spent with the twins on life support, separate but unable to support their own systems. Vent respirators and O2 lines, energon spikes and artificial pumps stood next to both berths, working to keep the two alive and online. Their frames, their armor, slowly began regaining color, their scratched and ruined paintjobs brightening from within as the light of their lives began to build, fractionally, each cycle.

Sunstreaker strengthened first, enough to remove the artificial life support devices in his typical difficult fashion. His body began cycling independently, fighting the influence and pattern of the auxiliary systems, breathing and pumping on his own and creating a mess against the opposing life support functions. It was the first time Ratchet had smiled, briefly, as he thought of how Sunstreaker just had to be difficult.

It was near the third orn after the battle that Sunstreaker nearly offlined Ratchet entirely in shock. He had spent the day cycle sanding, buffing and repairing the raised scar on Sunstreaker lower side, just as he promised he would, though it now was the least of the damages and injures to Sunstreaker's frame. Ratchet hadn't repaired his chestplates yet, still wanting that rapid access capability to his spark chamber if the golden twin dropped off again. It had been difficult for Ratchet, repairing the scar, soothing the injured armor and Sunstreaker's imagined pride all at once, as he remembered their mission, their times together, and the long history of the two of them. He replayed their conversations, over and over, their laughing, teasing moments, the surprising gentleness Sunstreaker had displayed, and the burning, unquenchable passion Ratchet had felt. It had been entirely difficult for him to work on Sunstreaker's unresponsive, silent body, spark still wrenched tight in pain, still wound too tightly within his chest.

Ratchet had left the medbay, one of the very few times he had at all. He had essentially moved in, recharging in his office or on one of the berths near the twins, optics locked on Sunstreaker until his processor forced him offline. He'd gone to Wheeljack, working steadily on reconnecting Skyfire's internals and spent some time in the calming, happy presence of his friend.

"I don't understand, Wheeljack," Ratchet had said tiredly. "I'll never understand."

Wheeljack had nodded, audial fins lit before he flashed back, speaking slowly. "We have six mechs alive who should not be. There's something there, something within their sparks that kept them here."

Fireflight had been working with Silverbolt, who had been working on Skyfire's lower hipplate, reattaching and replacing wires that would eventually connect his still-missing legs. "Well," the flyer began softly. "Four of them spark merged with Starscream. Maybe there's something there."

Ratchet had raised his optic ridge to the younger Aerialbot, snorting in tired disbelief. "I might believe that, since that fragging Seeker is impossible to offline." He'd shaken his helm, then continued. "Though, after what I've seen, I'm not sure I don't believe anything anymore." His optics wandered over Skyfire's form slowly.

When Ratchet had finally returned to the medbay, Sunstreaker was no longer in his berth. Ratchet had a momentary flash of panic before he found him laid out on top off Sideswipe, half bent over at the waist where he had tiredly stood by his twin's berthside for an unknown stretch of time. He'd dropped offline and into recharge, draping his upper half across the berth and letting his legs dangle over the side.

After Ratchet had recovered from the shock and terror of not seeing Sunstreaker where he had left him, he'd grabbed two chairs from his office and pulled Sunstreaker down into one while he sat next to the golden twin in the other, stroking his hands over his lover's helm while Sunstreaker recharged. Ratchet fell into recharge a long while later.

He'd onlined to find Sunstreaker already online and sitting up, staring hard and unmoving at Sideswipe's body on the berth. Ratchet had been overjoyed, smiling wide and gripping Sunstreaker's hands as he whispered Sunstreaker's name, longing and spark-tearing happiness surging from within.

Sunstreaker had ignored him. Entirely.

Ratchet tried to get his attention, tried shaking his hands, his shoulderjoints, shouting at him. Nothing broke Sunstreaker's focus on his twin. Ratchet scanned him unendingly, searching for some reason Sunstreaker was ignoring him, some medical reason, some malfunction in his circuitry. There was none. Sunstreaker was simply ignoring him.

Happiness turned to anger, which turned to frustration, which turned to determination. The next night cycle found Ratchet sitting beside Sunstreaker again, holding him once more when the golden twin fell into recharge. The same pattern of events repeated the next cycle, and the next, the three of them having fallen into a stagnation; Sideswipe's healing and recovery stuttered, Sunstreaker didn't break his pattern of ignoring Ratchet, and Ratchet never broke from his dedication to Sunstreaker.

Finally, after cycles, Ratchet had had enough. He had sat down for the night cycle again with Sunstreaker and began to talk, began to just unload, speaking out loud all the pain, anger and frustration he'd had within him, fearing for the worst when Sunstreaker lay graying on the battlefield, the agonizing cycles spent around the world, not knowing if Sunstreaker or Sideswipe would offline at any moment. The determination he had, within him, to press onwards, not allowing either of them to perish, to fight on and hold close each of the twins' lives.

He spoke haltingly about what he felt, for Sunstreaker, of the pain and terror and confusion, and of his wish to lay down with him and expire. He spoke of finding inside himself the determination to move forward, to press onwards to save them both, to heal both horrible, terrible twins as an entirely selfish act; he needed Sunstreaker, needed him fiercely within his life.

Sunstreaker had turned to stare at him, finally looking at **him**, during his ceaseless talk. When Ratchet finally stopped, finally ran out of words of longing and pain, Sunstreaker was shaking, trembling next to Ratchet with burning, heated optics.

"I hate you," Sunstreaker whispered. "I **hate** you…" His vocalizer shook, cracked on the words as his optics and faceplates twisted, too much emotion within. "Why do you make me **feel** this way?"

Ratchet's spark had stilled, had nearly stopped entirely as Sunstreaker began to speak, halting whispers barely reaching his audials. They were the first words he'd heard from the twin, from his lover, since the battle. He sobbed, hands grasping Sunstreaker's audial vents and helm, thumbs stroking over the armor plating as he exhaled forcefully, frame sagging and spark finally unclenching within his chest as he understood, finally, what they felt between them.

"Sunny," he whispered back, shaking and beginning to rain tiny kisses across Sunstreaker's helm and faceplates, drawing himself closer to the twin as he pulled Sunstreaker down towards him. "Sunny, I love you too. I love you too…"

Sunstreaker had finally come apart within his hands, shaking and trembling underneath his kisses and words of love. He'd curled into Ratchet's arms, recharging and holding Ratchet in return for the first time in orns.

Ratchet onlined to Sunstreaker's violent shakes, trying to wake the exhausted medic still seated next to him. "Ratchet!" Sunstreaker hissed, shaking him again. "I can **feel** him again!"

Sunstreaker revealed he hadn't been able to feel Sideswipe through their bond, which Ratchet hadn't even tried to understand, considering how they both had Sunstreaker's spark inside them. He'd tiredly, foggily, stood, beginning his full body scans of Sideswipe once more as Sunstreaker watched his every move.

"I think," he began later, "That your systems are each trying to rebuild the two halves of your spark and integrate them into each of your own functions. I think your healing is tied together." Ratchet had indicated to the terminal display, showing Sunstreaker the rapid advancement Sideswipe had made in his own healing that night cycle. He could come off the life support very shortly. "You need to take care of yourself, Sunny. Until **your** spark becomes **his** spark, your healing is effecting his own healing."

Sunstreaker had nodded, staring up into Ratchet's optics and listening dutifully. He had sighed, looking over Sideswipe's form, then back to Ratchet before speaking. "I guess you're right, I should be doing more for him."

"And for **you**," Ratchet had interjected, turning away from Sideswipe to stare down into Sunstreaker's faceplates. He'd raised his optic ridge. "Say that again."

Sunstreaker frowned. "What?"

"Say it again, the part about me being right."

Sunstreaker's own optic ridges had arched upwards as his optics took on a teasing, sarcastic glint. "I said, 'I guess you're right.'"

Ratchet smiled, tired, exhausted and relieved, and had joked back to his lover, "Mmm, that turns me on a bit." He'd regretted it the moment it left his lipplates, a slip of his normal sarcastic nature shining forth. He didn't know if Sunstreaker would appreciate the humor, given Sideswipe's condition.

Instead, Sunstreaker his tilted his helm, Ratchet's Look shining outwards for the first time since before the battle, lipplates curling upwards slightly. "I said 'guess.' That leaves room for you to be wrong."

Ratchet had smiled back fully, leaning down for a quick kiss to Sunstreaker's lipplates. "I'm never wrong."

Their life settled into a sequence after that, Sunstreaker remaining at Sideswipe's side during the day cycle as he regained his strength, Ratchet working in the medbay and helping Wheeljack, helping the Army, locate the missing pieces of Skyfire around the globe to piece back together. He repaired Thundercracker, reattached his wing and tried to talk to the blue Seeker, though Thundercracker was still fighting his own demons deep inside.

Each evening, he and Sunstreaker took a walk, working on strengthening Sunstreaker's, and by proxy, Sideswipe's systems. They chatted, talking idly about the Ark, the gossip, the battle, and their suddenly known existence around the world. Sunstreaker's strength steadily improved, and they began walking to the Rec Room for energon each evening, resting there for several joors, then returning to the med bay to recharge together on the adjacent berth to Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker's healing pulled from within Ratchet his deeply buried lust, locked away while the twin was recovering, but peeking out now that Sunstreaker was gaining strength each cycle. He'd lay, arms wrapped around Sunstreaker's body on the med berth while the twin recharged, with his surging engine and fantasizing processor preventing him from his own recharge. He wanted, desired, the twin again, but Sunstreaker still hadn't shown an interest, hadn't shown an inclination towards physical intimacy with his brother still down, though now off the life support, and himself still healing. Ratchet never pressed.

Ratchet finally offlined his terminal and stood, leaving his mess on the desk and walking out into the med bay. Sunstreaker was waiting for him, still seated in the chair next to Sideswipe, long legs stretched out before him as his optics glazed over, roaming over his twin's frame. Ratchet had sealed and repaired both of their chestplates, repairing the cosmetic damage as well. They both gleamed, brilliantly.

"Ready?" Ratchet crossed the medbay to stand in front of Sunstreaker, one hand extended to help the golden twin stand.

Sunstreaker nodded, moving his optics from Sideswipe's frame to Ratchet's faceplates and taking hold of Ratchet's hand to help pull himself upwards. They dropped the grip as they both began to walk, crossing the medbay and heading out into the hallway and to the Rec Room for their evening energon.

Sunstreaker padded along silently next to Ratchet as Ratchet's thoughts once again turned to the deeply personal revelations of his feelings during their entire ordeal. He had been pouring over and through his emotions, over the thoughts that had surprisingly reared up within his spark and processor back in the beginning, when Sunstreaker had seemed lost. His own thoughts had turned, again and again, and far more seriously recently, towards bonding.

Ratchet had no doubt the depth of Sunstreaker's feelings, the sincerity of his love, not after their shaking revelations. Sunstreaker had opened himself to Ratchet entirely, their conversations, their day and night cycles spent wholly together. Sunstreaker leaned on Ratchet, on his strength, on their strength together, during his and Sideswipe's healing. Despite all of that, or perhaps because of their growing togetherness, they did have several bitter arguments, fits of anger blossoming amidst the frustrations of Sunstreaker's healing. Still, Ratchet knew, as deeply as he'd ever known, that Sunstreaker was the one mech he couldn't live without. He felt deep within that Sunstreaker felt similarly.

They entered the lift together, Sunstreaker leaning tiredly against the back wall. He wasn't up to his full strength, not yet, and even their short walks would tire him out. Ratchet joined him, leaning against the side bulkhead of the lift next to Sunstreaker, his own exhaustion settling over his frame. He was old, older than Sunstreaker, and recharging on the medberths each night was not kind to his systems. He wouldn't change a thing, not at all, wouldn't let go of his time with Sunstreaker, but he certainly was tired.

Sunstreaker's optics slid over to stare at Ratchet, Ratchet's optic's dim as he leaned backwards tiredly. His optics traveled the length of Ratchet's body, dragging themselves over his shoulderjoints, his arms, and lingering on his red hands. They continued downwards, shifting across his red hipplates, then following down the length of his long, lean legs. Finally Sunstreaker shifted his gaze back upwards to Ratchet's faceplates. The medic had caught him staring, caught his lingering gaze over his body, and was staring back at the golden twin with a small smile.

Sunstreaker reached his hand out, fingers intertwining with Ratchet's red digits gently. "We should recharge in your quarters tonight," Sunstreaker said softly. "I think I can make the trip."

Ratchet's helm shifted, turning to stare at Sunstreaker as his lipplates parted slightly in surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked, stroking his thumb up and down Sunstreaker's palm.

Sunstreaker nodded, tugging on Ratchet's hand and pulling the medic fully against his body. "You need better recharge. I know that." Sunstreaker paused, optics dragging over Ratchet's faceplates. "Sideswipe will still be there next cycle." His vocalizer was slightly strained, voice equally spread between conviction and still needing to convince himself of the truth of his words. He needed to give this to Ratchet, to themselves, but tearing himself from Sideswipe's side still felt unnatural.

The lift halted, doors beginning to slide open. Ratchet inhaled, pulling backwards to push at the controls, closing the doors and keeping them inside the closed lift. This wasn't the time, wasn't the right time at all, but they had never been good with timing during their relationship. Sunstreaker had always been bugging and bothering him, then cropping up at all times, inconveniently, persistently. Then, their union, their ill-timed revelations to each other and subsequent too strong passion stretching out seemingly forever though ending too quickly amidst their friends and teammates. The timing of everything else, the battle, Sunstreaker's near death, too close to their final, perfect coming together. This was as good as any other time.

Sunstreaker stared into his optics, questioning.

Ratchet inhaled deeply, staring back into Sunstreaker's optics. He swallowed, gears rising and falling within his throat slowly. "There are things I can do, and things I can't do, as a medic," Ratchet began, red hands both sliding into Sunstreaker's yellow ones, fingers intertwining together. It was hard for him to admit that he had limits, had instances that baffled his expertise and knowledge. "I don't understand what happened, between you and Sideswipe. I truly don't. I just try to keep going."

Ratchet sighed deeply once more, swallowing again as Sunstreaker continued to stare down at him intensely. He hadn't thought this would be so difficult. "I can't fix this for you. I can't bring Sideswipe back tomorrow and I can't fix your sparks. Both of you have half a spark now, because of what you did." Ratchet hurried to finish as Sunstreaker frowned, opening his mouth to interject, to defend himself from what he thought was Ratchet's attack on his choices, his actions. "Because of your sacrifice. Because of your bravery," Ratchet finished, softly. "You are the most incredible mech I've ever known, Sunny. You are courageous, and you're brave, and though you try to hide it, I know you actually care about others."

Sunstreaker frowned, shifting uncomfortably beneath Ratchet's words of praise. His helm tilted as he licked his lipplates, then rubbed them together, gently chewing the inner edge of his lower lipplate.

Ratchet lifted Sunstreaker's hands in his own, bringing the golden fingers to his lipplates and dropping small kisses onto each knuckle, a repeat of his actions in their shelter's medbay when everything had changed between them. "There **is** something I can do for you though, something I **want** to do, so much." Ratchet's lipplates lingered on Sunstreaker's fingers, optics staring upwards into Sunstreaker's faceplates. "You already have everything of me, Sunny. You have my processor, my spark, and my love." Sunstreaker's optics burned into Ratchet's own, pinning them both in place as their world shrank to the two of them, pressed together within the lift, and Ratchet's halting, nervous words. "Please, Sunny. Please take my spark as well. It's yours already. Please." Ratchet kissed Sunstreaker's hands again, once, lipplates brushing against the golden armor as Sunstreaker's mouthplates fell open beneath Ratchet's whispers.

Sunstreaker stared into Ratchet's optics, his faceplates, optics searching over and through the medic's gaze. He exhaled, slowly, long and ragged. Finally, his lipplates pressed back together, firmly, optics slitted as he glared downwards to Ratchet. "You want to bond with me?" Sunstreaker asked, firm glare belied by the shaking in his vocalizer.

Ratchet nodded, unable to speak.

Sunstreaker stared, hard, still glaring. They remained locked in their position, hands still intertwined in front of their chests, gripping tightly to each other and frozen in place. Sunstreaker began to shake his helm, slowly, softly, each shake getting bigger and wider as he held Ratchet's gaze. "I **hate** you…" Sunstreaker whispered. "I **hate** you so much…"

Ratchet's faceplates split into a wide grin. It was an unconventional relationship, their own, using words of hatred in place of words of love. "I love you too, Sunny. You have no idea how much I love you."

Sunstreaker didn't answer. He broke Ratchet's hold on his hands, grabbing Ratchet's helm and dragging his faceplates to his own. He kissed Ratchet, deeply, their first true kiss since the whole horrible ordeal had begun.

Ratchet moaned, backstruts and legs weakening as Sunstreaker's glossa invaded his mouth, Sunstreaker's hands cupping his helm and stroking his faceplates tenderly, too tenderly to be believed as their kiss stretched on and on. Ratchet's hands dropped to Sunstreaker's chestplates, fingers splayed wide as he gripped down, clinging to the golden twin's form as he rode their kiss, losing himself within the touch and feel of his lover once more.

"Whoops!" A loud, human voice suddenly sounded from the open lift doors, unnoticed by either mech, too wrapped in the sensations of each other.

Ratchet's helm whipped around, glaring at the sudden intrusion as Sunstreaker's hands fell to his shoulderjoints. The golden twin's optics looked just shy of murder as his helm peered around Ratchet's, both of them panting heavily.

Bumblebee and Whitmore stood side-by-side, matching wide grins stretched across their faces and faceplates. "Sorry, Ratchet," Bumblebee began. "We didn't expect you to be in here." He still grinned cheekily up at the medic.

"We were just leaving," Sunstreaker growled, pushing off the back wall and grabbing Ratchet's hand, dragging him from the lift and past the minibot and Whitmore, now dressed casually in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, face cleanly shaved.

Ratchet followed Sunstreaker's stalk down the corridor, the golden twin not dropping his hand. He quickened his pace, falling in step with Sunstreaker and glancing sidelong in time to hear Whitmore's exclamation to 'Bee. "Were they doing what I think they were doing?"

"Depends, what do you think they were doing?" Bee's vocalizer teased.

"You know! Were they… do you guys actually have **sex**?"

"We 'interface.'"

"Interface? What the shit is that? I 'interface' with the CENTCOM network, what does-"

"You **do**?" Bee's still teasing, shocked tone interrupted Whitmore as the lift doors closed.

Ratchet finally chuckled, still glancing sidelong to Sunstreaker, who hadn't dropped his firm grip on Ratchet's hand. Sunstreaker's optics slid back towards his own, Ratchet's Look once again shining from within. Ratchet's lipplates stretched into a wide smile, again, staring into Sunstreaker's happy faceplates. "You never answered my question," he asked softly, lightly.

Sunstreaker stopped, turning and bodily pressing Ratchet backwards against the corridor bulkhead, frames sliding together as he pressed against his lover, pressing him backwards till he was pushed up against the wall. He stared, hard, into Ratchet's optics as Ratchet inhaled, engine thrumming from the effects of their combined kiss in the lift and Sunstreaker pushing up against his frame.

Sunstreaker leaned forwards, capturing Ratchet's lipplates softly, too gently, within his own, lightly kissing him slowly. Ratchet moaned again, red hands gripping down on Sunstreaker's hipplates to draw the twin closer.

Sunstreaker pulled back, inhaling deeply as he gazed into Ratchet's optics. He nodded, slowly, up and down, not breaking their stare.

Ratchet's smile threatened to break his faceplates, stretching wide as his optics surged, shining brilliant with far, far too much emotion. He couldn't speak, vocalizer freezing under too much sensation. He leaned forward, capturing Sunstreaker's lipplates in dozens of kisses, pressing into Sunstreaker again and again. "When you're better," Ratchet murmured between kisses. "When you're healed."

***^***

Jazz was reclining backwards on the Rec Room couch, helm laying in Prowl's lap and optics offline when Cliffjumper burst into the Rec Room. "All of you lazy mechs come outside with me!" Cliffjumper drawled. "You are not going to **believe** this!"

Prowl had stopped reading his data pad, and more importantly to Jazz, stopped his fond, light stroking of Jazz's bumper, turning to look quizzically at Cliffjumper before staring downwards at Jazz, his optics ridges raised. The rest of the mechs, including Ratchet and Sunstreaker, who had arrived only a few breems ago, looked around in confusion as well.

"Come **on!**" Cliffjumper called out again. "You're going to miss it!"

Prowl sighed, then stood, bumping Jazz's helm up off his lap as Jazz squawked in protest. Prowl met Cliffjumper's optics with his own ever-patient ones, then gestured for the minibot to lead the way. Jazz stared up to his bondmate in disbelief, mouth open as he glared. Prowl was leaving him, leaving their comfortable recline to go gallivanting after Cliffjumper.

Prowl's optics smiled down at Jazz as his lipplates gently teased. Sighing, Jazz huffed himself up, standing next to Prowl and following him out of the Rec Room. The rest of the mechs soon followed suit, Sunstreaker and Ratchet joining the parade of mechs at the end, Sunstreaker's movements much slower than usual in his weakened and tired state. Their trek from the medbay had already taken much of the strength from the golden warrior.

Cliffjumper led them all back outside, nearly bouncing with excitement and repressed humor. He turned, grinning wide as they finally all tromped out through the entrance and stopped around the Dinobots, all in their preferred alt modes and sitting around Kup, himself sitting high atop a boulder.

"More!" Grimlock roared, backed by cheers and shouts from Slag, Snarl and Sludge and caws from Swoop as he flapped his wings. Kup grinned wide, waving to the new arrivals and gesturing for them all to take a seat and join the fun. Smokescreen and Blaster were atop an adjacent tall rock, Smokescreen sitting and dangling his legs over the side as Blaster reclined backwards, knees bent upwards. Hot Rod stood behind them both, fidgeting and glaring across at Kup.

"You're ridiculous, Kup!" Hot Rod jeered. "No mech believes that!"

"They do!" Kup pointed down to the Dinobots, still jostling for more stories. "They **love** my stories! At least **some** mechs appreciate the experience of their elders!"

Hot Rod sighed, rolling his optics. "Experience! It's all made up!"

"Is not!" Kup retorted forcefully.

"Your 'stories' change all the time! I think I've heard the one about your 'rescue' of-"

"Why you ungrateful little mechlet! All the times I've saved you –"

Hot Rod and Kup's escalating and oft repeated argument was droned out by Blaster's sudden crackling of his radio, the chorus of an old Earth song blasting over the assembled mechs. "…_How sweet it is to be loved by you…"_

Smokescreen shook his helm as he chuckled over Blaster's song choice. "You two are incredible," he laughed, glancing between both Hot Rod and Kup's frowning, scowling faceplates.

"You Hot Stuff be silent! You Kup tell Dinobots more adventures!" Grimlock suddenly shouted, slowing and switching his long T-Rex tail. The rest of his Dinobot team roared in affirmation as Hot Rod sighed again, throwing his hands up in frustration and collapsing next to Blaster.

Kup grinned and rubbed his hands together as the rest of the mechs settled in around the Dinobots. Ratchet gently helped Sunstreaker sit on one of the lower side boulders before joining his lover next to him. Sunstreaker leaned heavily into his arms and rested his helm on Ratchet's shoulderjoint. Few of the mechs spared them a second glance; the shock of their union had worn off while Sunstreaker and Ratchet refused to entertain their stares and shocked looks in their evenings spent in the Rec Room.

'Bee and Whitmore stumbled out from the Ark, pinged outside by Cliffjumper. Whitmore was on extended leave from the Army, and chose to spend a majority of it with 'Bee, traveling around parts of America and then visiting the Ark for the next orn. He would be returning to the new Department of Cybertronian Affairs as a liaison between the Pentagon and White House after his vacation.

Hound and Mirage settled down together, each of their hands intertwined as they sat in the dirt. Mirage would never have before lowered himself to join Hound on the ground, preferring to stand until his servos tired. Now though, after Hound's brush with too-close death, small things had changed. He didn't hesitate to settle in next to Hound, shoulderjoints rubbing together as both their hands joined within Hound's lap.

Even Prime was there, finally emerging from within the Ark with Ironhide, the two older mechs enjoying a private relaxation within Prime's office. Red Alert had wandered out as well, Inferno tagging along and standing next to the Security Officer. Wheeljack moved to join Silverbolt, smiling fondly and standing next to the Aerialbot leader while his ever-bickering and talkative teammates settled down behind him, folding themselves around each other with their wings overlapping. The Protectobots pulled in around the Ark, vehicle modes transforming to mech modes as they all waited for Kup's next story and watching the Dinobots with suppressed humor.

"This story is not that old," Kup began, glancing a harsh look to Hot Rod's still scowling form. "Certainly not as old as some here would have you believe **I **am."

Kup glanced over the crowd and spotted Jazz and Prowl, standing together near the back. Prowl stood behind Jazz, arms wrapped around the Saboteur's waistplates in an unusual public display of affection as his chinplate rested on Jazz's shoulderjoint. Jazz's hands gripped down on Prowl's, fingers intertwined where they rested, wrapped around Jazz's frame.

"This story begins on a simple patrol, three mechs out trying to protect their teammates…" Kup's voice droned on, despite Hot Rod's overdramatic, interjecting sighs as he flounced against Blaster's form.

Prowl turned his helm into Jazz's neck collum, softly mouthing the cables within, safe from view behind the entire crowd. Jazz inhaled, shifting against his ministrations, his soft, tender kisses, rotating his helm to give his bonded better access. Prowl's helm lifted, mouthing and lightly sucking his way up Jazz's neck collum to the back of his helm, then over to his audial, still lightly kissing Jazz's armor plating. "I love you," Prowl breathed into Jazz's audial.

Jazz shivered, from his helm to his feet, at the feel of Prowl's words ghosting over his audial. He squeezed down, gripping tightly to Prowl's fingers where they still held him, then pressed his frame back against the Enforcer's own. He turned his helm sideways, finally breaking under the perfect feel of his bondmate's tender kisses.

Kup's voice continued on, rising and falling as he relayed their story to the gathered mechs, their friends, teammates, fellow Autobots on the Ark and from Cybertron, though it all passed unnoticed to Prowl and Jazz. Their optics met, shining, sparkling as they stared into the other's gaze, before they drew together, one of Jazz's hand rising to cup Prowl's faceplates as they met in a brilliant, perfect kiss, stretching onwards beneath the setting desert sun.

-

_Musical Selections for Selected Characters:_

_Prowl/Jazz – Far Away, Nickelback_

_Ratchet/Sunstreaker – I Need You To Love Me, Barlow Girl_

_Starscream – I'm Alive, Disturbed_

_Starscream/Skyfire – Hurt, Johnny Cash_

_Skywarp – Always, Saliva_

_Thundercracker – Never Enough, Five Finger Death Punch; Ever Fallen In Love, Pete Yorn_

_Skyfire – 1000 Miles from Nowhere, Dwight Yoakum_

_Resistance Mechs – Another One Bites the Dust, Queen_

_Bluestreak and Fireflight – Stuck in the Middle With You, Stealer's Wheels_

_**Musical Selection for the Entire Story – All I Want, Staind**_

_**Musical Selection to Preview the Sequel – Tomorrow, Sixx AM**_


End file.
